


Genius Is a Curse

by Bloodshot Eyes (Saphariel)



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Depression, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 56
Words: 210,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27394261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saphariel/pseuds/Bloodshot%20Eyes
Summary: If Light had never touched the Death Note, would he ever have found an escape from the depression and boredom that plagued him? Would he have had a future at all?
Comments: 89
Kudos: 84





	1. Losing Sight

**Author's Note:**

> I started posting this story back in 2009 to another website, but I want to have it here as well now that the site is behaving unpredictably. I'm still writing for it. :)
> 
> I've substantially edited the first two chapters with extra scenes and dialogue, and I am working my way through the rest, cleaning up bad word choice and other nitpicky nonsense. 
> 
> Sometimes I'll include the music I was listening to while drafting the chapter at the top.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: This chapter was edited substantially in Dec 2020.

The news. A murder. Some older man apparently killed his much younger wife for cheating. He was in jail awaiting trial. _Click._

Anime. "Code Geass?" It looked familiar. The dark-haired boy was shouting at his friend to listen to reason. _Click._

Music awards. Ryuga Hideki was performing one of his better songs in one of his more tasteless outfits. _Click._

A talk show. Something about exhibitionists and those that loved them. _Click._

The news again. A bank robbery. No injuries. _Click._

An interview. Political scandal. _Click. Click. Click._

The television set threw its ubiquitous blue glare over the young man slumped in front of it. The images stopped registering to the glazed-over eyes and become mere colors that shifted as the channel changed. Details of each show became more insignificant until it turned to a drone in the background.

Static. Eyes blinked, but cognitive processes had ground to a halt.

Yagami Light, genius and top-scoring student at Tokyo University, decided that he was tired. That was why he couldn't fake an interest in the goings-on of the world around him. He couldn't even force his eyes to focus on the now-fuzzy bluish box in front of him. He wasn't tired enough to sleep. Just... drained.

Something broke through the haze surrounding him, and he dredged himself out of the thoughtless void he had sunken into. His eyes struggled to focus on the new object in the room until he realized it was his mother. He forced himself to sit up and look at her as he tried to figure out what she was saying.

"...time for dinner. Shouldn't you be studying during finals? Or at least watching the news and not some cartoons," she said.

He shifted his gaze back to the television only to see the anime that was playing before. One hundred, two hundred channels, and he had clicked mindlessly through them for the last hour or two. He couldn't remember when he had sat down out here, but it was darkening outside. His schoolbag was at his feet, though, so he must have come here straight from campus.

"Sorry, Mother. I was awake too long studying _last_ night. I'm getting tired, I guess," he said.

Maybe he was tired; he didn't usually make such vague statements, choosing instead to be precise and always sound intelligent. He was slipping, so he pasted on one of his sheepish and slightly embarrassed smiles for his mother's sake so she didn't worry.

After grasping his schoolbag and heading up the stairs, he glanced into his sister's room as he passed by. Sayu was watching the music awards and talking on the phone to one of her friends, but she waved at him when she caught sight of him. She was cheerful and surrounded by color and noise. Magazines spread across her brightly colored quilt, and clothes were left on the floor. Her collections of stuffed animals and cell phone charms were scattered across her bookshelf and desk. It was cluttered but homey and comfortable looking.

He lifted a hand in salutation to her before stepping into his darkened room. The sterility of it seemed striking tonight, as if it might have come out of a catalog for all the personality it contained. Textbooks and reference manuals lined up neatly on his bookshelves, and his gray bedcovers made the bed itself indistinct in the shadows. Everything was put away, and there was nothing on any surface save his clock, computer, television, and pens. It was stark and utilitarian, but it was how he preferred it to be.

He set his bag by the door in its usual spot then flopped with a complete lack of his usual grace on top of his bedcovers. His eyes fell shut, and his breathing evened out, but he was far from sleepy. He just lacked the energy to do anything. It took too much effort to concentrate on anything, even the television, which was something anyone could stare at for hours. Even that had failed to rouse his interest, instead crushing it with its endless reports of real-life crime, trivial coverage of entertainment, and fabricated drama.

He was so tired. He didn't know if he could take it anymore.

* * *

"Something wrong with the fish, Light?" his mother asked not long after he made it back downstairs and to the dinner table.

Light blinked to get his eyes to focus and stared down at his mostly-full plate, his chin resting in his hand atop his immobile chopsticks. After a quick glance at his family's plates and bowls to see how far along in the meal they were, he made an effort to eat rather than drift in that thoughtless fog from earlier.

"No, nothing. It's delicious," he threw out without thinking about it.

The meal was adequate to keep hunger pangs away, that was all, but it wasn't her fault he was so out of sorts.

"Sorry, I was thinking about a problem on one of the practice exams," he added to explain his lapse.

"How many more exams do you have?" his father asked while he studied Light.

It was the first night that week that Soichiro had made it home in time for dinner. There must be a particularly difficult case commanding his attention; either that or he was being his usual workaholic self. As the Detective Superintendent of the National Police Agency, it was all too easy for him to be stuck working late.

"I have one more exam this week and one next Monday," Light said. He sat up straighter given that his father's eyes were on him too.

"You might want to sleep for a week once those are over," his father said with a concerned look.

"Not if he wants to graduate," Sayu added. "He'll have to wake up for the ceremony."

Light made himself smile because that was appropriate while he ate the fish on his plate. He didn't even know what it was when the taste and texture didn't register as anything worth noting.

He was so tired. Even eating didn't help him focus.

"How is the case coming along?" Light asked his father to shift the conversation away from him.

"Hrmm," Soichiro said with a glance at his wife, whose expression grew wintry. "There've been some… developments."

"So Otaharada won't get off again on a technicality?" Light asked, trying to recall which questions he had asked before so he didn't repeat them.

"I doubt it. The evidence this time is air-tight, but the crime is so minor by comparison. It's connecting him to those 'Shinjuku Killer' murders from six years ago before that kindergarten debacle that should put him away for good."

"What debacle?" Sayu asked while Sachiko sighed and left the table before heading into the kitchen.

"He took hostages at a preschool and killed some of the children and staff before police could move in," Light said.

"The Nursery Massacre? I thought they caught the guy responsible," Sayu said, pausing with her chopsticks against her mouth.

"They did," Light started, "but his lawyer made the case that antipsychotics were to blame, and then some eyewitnesses—"

"Dessert, anyone?" Sachiko interrupted, coming back in with a covered plate.

None of them had even finished their meals, but Soichiro coughed and Light closed his mouth.

A few minutes later, Sachiko was busy interrogating Sayu about her finals, giving them both a reprieve. Soichiro leaned toward Light and said under his breath, "We're getting some help with the case. A consulting investigator. He's… very good."

"Outside the NPA?" Light murmured back, one eye on his mother.

"Yes. He's private but we've worked with him before," his father said. "Otaharada _will_ be convicted of everything this time. No slips."

"That's good," Light said.

Because he couldn't feign interest any longer, he just gave his father a hopeful look to close the conversation.

Of course Light cared about serial killers not being free to roam the streets because they paid off lawyers or had evidence tampered with, but it was hard to stay cognizant long enough to hold a conversation about it. In only a few weeks, that would be _his_ full-time job too. Then he could also work late at a thankless job trying to ensure justice was done when so many ways existed for criminals to squirm out of it.

Sometimes he wondered why following in his father's footsteps had seemed like such a good idea.

* * *

Back when Light had been preparing to take his entrance exams for Tokyo University, he had gone to get his second or third cup of coffee after dinner when he overheard his parents talking in low voices in the kitchen. It sounded like more talk about how long Soichiro was at the headquarters every day. Not wanting to interrupt but also not wanting to eavesdrop, he listened long enough to make sure it wasn't a fight he was walking into before yawning theatrically and stepping into the kitchen.

His mother wiped an anxious look off her face and beamed at Light, telling him that he was such a hardworking student and that he made her proud. He smiled back at her because he honestly didn't know what to say. He couldn't tell his mother that he was only studying because he couldn't sleep, and he was too bored to do anything else.

His father gripped Light's shoulder before he could reach the coffee, leaving Light trapped there with a false smile on his face and an empty mug in his hand.

"Son, I cannot tell you how proud I am of you. You can see what kind of hours this work demands, and that you would still choose to do it does you credit," his father said.

Feeling less like he had been complimented and more like a pawn being used in an argument between his parents, Light opted to brush off the comment for the sake of disentangling himself from this awkwardness.

"If the hours are anything like the ones I keep now, I'm sure I'll find it normal," Light said.

"Nevertheless, you may have to choose between the job and a family at some point. You might have someone like your mother to answer to about your hours."

"So I should marry another agent?" Light said, rolling his eyes once he turned toward the coffeepot.

"You might see more of her if you do," Sachiko said with a snort.

Soichiro said something that Light didn't hear when he dug in the ice maker for an ice cube. Light plunked it into his mug and started pouring coffee over it to cool it down. He glanced over only to see that his father was now holding his mother's hands while he spoke.

"It's because I love you all that I have to work these hours. This is how I can protect you," Soichiro said.

"I know that, but when we don't see you—" Sachiko said quietly.

"Good night," Light said quickly and walked out of the room, away from that mawkish display.

This was not a new topic of conversation for their family. Light had realized what working for the NPA would demand of his father and later himself, but unlike his mother, he had long ago stopped hoping for the situation to change. It was just how it was.

Light's father was his hero: distant, noble to a fault, hardworking, and on a pedestal that Light couldn't reach. The lack of intimacy with his own father was something Light believed was normal, and anyway, heroes were always at their best when viewed from a distance.

But then again, so was everyone else.

Up close, Light could see everyone's flaws; not to mention, up close he had to pay attention to other people. It did not come naturally, and it had become more and more tedious over the years. He had no interest anymore in garnering friends. They required too much work to keep up with, and they didn't offer him anything substantial in return. If he wanted superficial conversation, he could talk to his sister. She couldn't converse about philosophy or justice like his father, but she respected him the way he respected his father, so it made up for her lack of depth. It wasn't uncharitable to think that.

It was just… how it was.

Light pulled himself out of his reverie with difficulty while he headed up the stairs after finishing dinner. His mind had been wandering so much lately that he barely remembered leaving the table.

He found his way to his desk in the light from outside and opened one of his textbooks only to stare outside the window, the end of his mechanical pencil caught between his teeth. He had studied it all before, and he couldn't bear to look at it again. The occasional person passing in the street as well as the vehicles driving by held more interest. His eyes slowly drifted out of focus until everything outside the window turned to abstract shapes, just like the television earlier.

Several minutes or an hour later, Sayu's voice in the hallway made him blink back to awareness and realize that he hadn't even turned on his desk light. If his mother came to check on him or bring him anything, she would wonder what he was doing. He flicked the light on, ever a dutiful son, and paged through a magazine he had picked up earlier that week during a wander after class. None of the articles or images held any meaning for him, but he was so bored, so listless that his mind needed to process _something_.

His mind had been wandering of its own accord for years. Reality had failed to offer him anything challenging enough to pay attention to, and as a result, his mind had taken to grasping onto any shred of thought and running rampant with it. That left him pondering old memories about long-resolved issues or trying to stimulate his thoughts with anything to hand.

It would get better soon. He chose the NPA and specifically the intelligence department because he had to, not just because of his father's example. There he would find cases and mysteries and a workload to challenge even his superior intellect. He would find something to occupy his mind and his time, and it would take his attention away from the crushing weight of sheer boredom.

He was starting to think the work was the only thing that would save him.

* * *

A week later, Light's dreams came true on the day of his graduation ceremony.

He had wanted to join the NPA and work as his father did, as a detective assigned to Intelligence. In pursuit of that, he had aced the remainder of his final exams, graduated as the top-scoring student on record at Tokyo University, and practically walked into the NPA Director's office to be congratulated on his acceptance as their youngest agent. He had already negotiated his salary and even signed his contract weeks ago.

Light had fulfilled all the goals he had set for himself.

Rather than making him proud, thinking about it bored him to death.

They were perhaps the last challenges he would ever encounter, and they had come so easily. What was the point of being a genius, a prodigy, if nothing ever truly challenged his skills? It was as though his superior intellect was being insulted by only being tested through mediocre means.

He couldn't take it anymore.

Today's graduation ceremony was supposed to mark a day of change, but it only felt like more of the same drudgery under the fancy trappings and speeches and well wishes. His future stretched straight out ahead of him, lacking any twists or turns, and it was perfectly clear, even now, the path he would travel for the rest of his days.

He saw himself working with others lacking in intelligence and lacking the ambition to do better. He saw himself having to dumb down his speech and repeat himself to civilians and fellow detectives alike. He had worked with them before while still in high school; he knew what most of his future coworkers were like: smart, analytical, but stupid in comparison. It was hardly a charitable thought, but arrogance and ambition had been the only things driving him for years. It was hard to lay them aside when they were the only things that kept him going.

Now nothing drove him. His once lofty goals had come easily to him, and it was all for nothing.

Light had not found himself suddenly filled with purpose, with anticipation. Instead, he had woken that morning, like so many others, and wondered why he kept going. The listlessness had grown impossible to ignore.

Now that he had his goals in his grasp, he couldn't feel happy. He didn't even feel _satisfied_. He felt... hollow.

Perhaps it was time for it all to be over.

Light shook off that feeling, wondering where that thought had come from. It sounded too melodramatic to be anything of his own. His mother and sister watched too many dramas during dinner.

Surely that was the only reason such a ludicrous thought had crossed his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (December 2020) This was the first chapter of my first story posted online, fanfiction or otherwise, and it was never meant to be as epic as it has become. Twelve years later, I came back and tried to make it less sloppy and artless. Perhaps the early, unedited version had its charm, but I was still learning to write for an audience bigger than myself. Maybe this also gets it more in line stylistically with my later chapters.
> 
> Here's hoping.
> 
> I am steadily cleaning up the other chapters, but there will be no revisions so profound as this one.


	2. Numbness

His family took Light out for dinner that night along with several of his father's coworkers and their families. Light had worked with several of the detectives on cases when he was still a student, and now they were welcoming him as a fellow agent. It was a no-holds-barred assault by over ten people on the best restaurant his father and his friends could find.

They ate and discussed the news, their work, movies, Light's achievements and many other things for what felt like hours. A good deal of advice, both joking and well-meaning, got handed down to him, and Light, ever the gracious child, smiled and thanked them, adding a light-hearted laugh if the comment called for it.

His father and even his father's friends offered several times to buy Light a drink to celebrate the occasion, and several of them indulged in their own, but Light refused politely. He was chided good-naturedly for being "too well-behaved," but in truth, he had no desire to feel any emptier and more dazed. In his state, he would probably start crying into whatever they bought him.

Light felt the corners of his mouth twitch in genuine amusement at the thought of himself being reduced to tears over anything.

Despite the gaiety around him, the atmosphere failed to reach him. It was an event _for_ him, celebrating _his_ accomplishments, but he was the person who least wanted to be there. It was as though he sat inside a bubble, watching the world from inside a sterile cocoon. The food was excellent, but it couldn't rouse his appetite. The talk was interesting, but it couldn't stimulate him into contributing more than a token sentence or two. The everpresent boredom and an encroaching weariness had leeched all the taste, all the color from everything. It would have made a lesser man cry, but emotion was beyond him. All he felt was disappointment, a listlessness that drowned him.

Eventually, his family bid his father's friends, and soon-to-be _his_ coworkers, good night and they went their separate ways.

It occurred to Light on the drive home that he should have been celebrating his graduation with friends, either going dancing or singing karaoke or getting drunk at the nearest bar. Missing out on "normal" activities didn't bother him at all. At least this way, his parents were still proud of him for being a good son. Dinner was more bearable than going out with people he didn't care about even if he did occasionally socialize for appearances' sake. His classmates' names were already beginning to fade from his memory because he wouldn't see them in his line of work.

His family returned to the house still in high spirits. His father and mother found their usual places on the sofa, and Sayu curled up in her furry pink papasan in the living room as if they would keep talking. Light lingered in the doorway and made small talk over the television until he could get away with saying he was taking a walk. It was early enough that if he went to his room, they would wonder what he was doing. He had nothing to study for anymore, and it was too early to sleep, so a walk was his best option.

"A walk? At this hour?" his mother objected. The smile on her face dissolved into concern, and her expression grew worried.

Light pasted a smile on his own face as he hurried to reassure her. "I had far too much for dinner. I just want to walk it off."

Light would need to be more careful around her for a while again.

Years ago, back when he was still in high school, he had nearly walked in on another of his parents' late-night conversations. This time, he overheard his mother discussing the possibility of depression. No one would ever accuse Sayu of being depressed, so they had to be discussing him. Even Light knew at the time that he was exhibiting symptoms: he had stopped playing tennis and never brought friends home or even talked about any, so naturally his mother was worried. Ever since then, he had been careful to inject more feeling into his words and occasionally lie about seeing friends when he just spent several hours walking in a thoughtless daze downtown.

"Let him go, Sachiko. He hasn't had a minute to himself all day," Soichiro said, turning to look at Light over the sofa. "You'll call when you're headed back?"

"Father," Light chided, "I'm an adult now." Then he smiled to let them know he was joking. "Of course I will."

That seemed to amuse his mother, so he excused himself and went up to his room. The false emotion fell away like a mask. Hopefully that would distract his mother from her concerns for a few days. He massaged the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache. It had been a long day, and keeping up appearances for so long was draining. He really did want a walk to clear his head.

Light took some money from his stash for incidentals in his dresser; he didn't like swiping his card for small things like coffee, nor did he like carrying excessive amounts of cash. Deciding not to bother with a jacket, he headed out the front door into the brisk evening air.

The chill might wake him up. The sky was overcast with only a star or two peeking through. It would rain tonight, but he didn't care if he was caught in it. Plenty of things didn't matter right now so much as getting away.

Briefly it occurred to him to wonder just what he was getting away from, but he pushed the thought aside and let the pleasant numbness wash over him as he decided to take a bus into downtown.

The bus took him to the block where his favorite coffeehouse lay while the rain started to fall. Other passengers hurried to open umbrellas or dash into businesses nearby to avoid the rain after they exited, but he strolled down the glistening sidewalk and into the small coffee shop. It was warm and stifling with the smell of people just rained upon, but the roasty-sweet smell of coffee soon smothered it, so it was bearable.

He took a moment upon entering to close his eyes and inhale deeply; the familiar scents of aerated milk and the sharp, burned odor of espresso gave him a measure of peace despite his current mental state. The dull roar of the coffee grinders and the hissing steam heads on the espresso machines eclipsed the conversation of those around him, and, for a time, he hung suspended, blissfully thoughtless, only peripherally aware of breathing in and out and bleeding the tension out of his body.

As reality slowly returned, he moved to stand behind the last person in line for the counter, his eyes still glazed over of their own accord despite his best efforts to look self-possessed and composed. He never wanted to look sloppy in front of others, but he couldn't be bothered to be friendly as well when a girl passed by and looked at him shyly.

The counter was in front of him before he knew it, and he found himself ordering a medium coffee from the perky girl behind the counter rather than something more complicated. The steaming liquid in his hand was something to hang onto, something solid. He moved toward the condiment bar with its creamers and sugars, both real and fabricated, but left without putting anything into the steaming brew. He took a sip as he stepped back into the now chilly weather, and it scorched his tongue. Through the pain, he took note of the bland earthiness of the brew and decided that it was a Sumatran or another Malaysian coffee.

The rain had stopped for the time being, as though merely issuing a warning of things to come. His feet took him without purpose further into downtown, the lights of the businesses around him blurring into colored streamers and meaningless words. After an indeterminate amount of time, he stopped in the middle of a pedestrian bridge. Normally his mood would demand solitude, but the rush of vehicles below drowned out any sound of passersby behind him. Perhaps the noise would also offer a respite from his thoughts. He felt no need to take note of his surroundings as he let his eyes wander; he had nothing of worth on him other than his identification and a few bills and coins.

His increasing apathy would have bothered him in the past, or at least annoyed him with its potential for melodrama or a self-pitying train of thought, but... he just didn't care right now. Nothing meant a great deal as long as he escaped.

He set the coffee on the railing next to his hand and let his eyes go out of focus as he looked down at traffic. Headlights became meteors, trailing red, yellow, and white light against shining black pavement rather than a black sky. Car horns and revving engines became distant thunder under his feet, making the ground vibrate. The air was an oppressive blanket, heavy with rain and unwilling to be finished washing the smells of the city out of the air. It would start raining again soon, but he let the humidity swath him in numbing layers as a familiar oblivion took hold of him.

Memories of the last few years came unbidden, rising above his consciousness like oil floating on water. Images and sounds flashed across his mind's eye. His family's smiles as he showed them success after success in both school and college, and their praise that meant less and less to him. His so-called friends' admiration and respectful compliments, and even their occasional ill-disguised jealous glances. Juvenile love notes and glances sent his way by many an admirer, notes that went unread into the trash and glances eventually ignored. The NPA Director's genuine pleasure at his success and future potential. His teachers' comments that he was a tribute to the college, bound for a successful future.

He sipped at his coffee again, now that the temperature approached drinkable, as a faint smirk twisted his lips.

What was this "success," anyway? It was a word that was thrown around a lot during his schooling that grew meaningless as it was overused. Was success a good job, a steady income followed by the inevitable marriage to a suitable partner and eventually... children? Was it climbing the corporate ladder until he reached the top, managing a company or a team of detectives, as was more likely in his case? Was it retiring early from a lucrative career and spending his time writing books about his "success" and how others could achieve it?

The idea of writing was laughable. No one needed to read about his private spiral into mindless unfeeling and simultaneous incredible achievement at scholarly pursuits. He mocked the idea of himself ever being a father to children, and the momentary image of him tossing a child in the air or baby-talking was ludicrous. He couldn't even picture himself _smiling_ in genuine amusement, much less laughing. For that matter, he scoffed at the thought of marrying one of the vapid, doe-eyed girls that he had seen on campus, even if they had to be intelligent to get into Tokyo University. The plainer and more studious women had held equal interest for him. Despite his comment the other day, he doubted the women at his workplace would be much different.

Success. Whatever it was, it was meaningless to him. He just needed a challenge, something to make him wake in the morning eager to start his day. Something to give him purpose. That was _all._

He was tired of feeling frustrated during his days. The world was falling apart around him, and he could do nothing alone to stop it. He had watched his father, his personal example of justice, for years, and despite all the work Soichiro put into his job at the cost of time with his family, the same incidents kept happening. Genius Light might be while his father was not, but his father's workload was a testament to the fact that the justice system as a whole was ineffective. His father didn't have enough time for his family because the criminals took him away, but they couldn't all be killed by some god's hammer.

Besides, if the criminals were all gone, who would challenge Light? Who would create the cases that he would unravel? His very future depended, in part, on the continued depravity of those around him. He hated it, but he would not survive without it.

It all turned into some horrible downward spiral. Looking down into it made Light wish madness was an option so he didn't have to keep thinking about it, to keep seeing it taunting him. He raked fingers through his auburn hair and took a deep draw of his coffee, willing away the chill that threatened to distract him.

In the last four or five years, he was growing increasingly... tired, and it looked as though the situation was never going to change. Despair was never something he would admit to feeling; it was too extreme, but disappointment? Maybe. Tired? Certainly. He was _tired._

Tired of seeing crime, crime, crime all over the place: gruesome murders, crimes of passion, violence, robberies, rape. Tired of studying or pretending to when it wasn't necessary. Tired of watching his classmates fooling around in class, discussing trivial relationship details and pop star gossip, tired of seeing how they refused to take the world seriously. Tired of putting effort into something that no one else seemed to personally care about even though they congratulated him. Tired of the same dreary routine every day: waking, running, studying, eating, taking tests, talking to and lying to his family, eating again, watching the news or reading, sleeping. Repeat _ad nauseum._

A sudden crushing weight bore him down until he pressed his forehead to the slick railing in front of him, his thoughts effectively derailed. He drew a shuddering breath as his foundation, his very stability, quaked. Would he spend his whole career like that? Waking every day unwilling to face the reality that his work, his _life_ was ultimately futile? When had his life become so... hollow, stripped of anything other than mere survival? So _meaningless?_

His eyes stung from the sudden pain in his chest, but he blinked it away, standing and sipping at his now-cold coffee. It was getting colder, but he blocked out the distraction and shook his damp hair out of his eyes, refocusing on the cars moving below him. It might have been his imagination, but his coffee tasted faintly of salt.

It had been a while since he'd allowed himself to feel that sentimental, that _weak_. He rewound his thought process, trying to recall disappointment rather than the hopelessness that had nearly overtaken him. Some days despair was a very real possibility, a monster lurking in the shadows, waiting to overtake him if he ever slipped up. He had felt its breath on his neck a moment ago, a cold caress that promised sweet oblivion, if only he would release control of his thoughts, his _emotions_. It was appealing sometimes, the thought of letting go, not caring what others thought of him and just _feeling_ all the hate and frustration and rage, and maybe, in time, the things like joy and happiness would come back to him.

But he would never surrender control. He had too much pride.

He had had passion once, for tennis and for school. These things had made him feel good in the past, but they had slowly been consumed by an overwhelming need for him to distance himself from the sheer stupidity around him. It was a wonder he'd graduated at all, now that he came to think of it. Only pride had fueled him these last few years. Pride would never allow him to be a dropout or a failure at anything, even if he had forgotten why he kept doing things in the first place. Only that had pushed him to keep waking up, getting dressed, and going to school.

He reached back to his coffee, which had grown cold as ice, and sipped at it, blinking the rain out of his eyes. The strong flavor woke him up as the caffeine surely would shortly. He wore the watch his father had given him, but he didn't feel like checking the time. His work wouldn't officially start for two weeks. His father had encouraged him to take some time off to relax and perhaps start looking for an apartment. His mother insisted that he could stay at home until he was settled at work, but his father seemed to understand he would want his own space, not that Light knew what he would do with it yet.

He sighed, feeling more empty now that he had spent so much time in thought. Funny. Light had never known that feeling dead inside could hurt this much.

* * *

Light didn't notice when most of the traffic noises had died away, but the sound of two people conversing carried to his ears and woke him briefly from his daze. It was two men conversing in English from the sound of it. Simple curiosity demanded that he pull himself out of his reminiscing and translate; English had been a relatively simple course, but he didn't get many opportunities to practice outside listening to television. It sounded like they were talking about car trouble and a hotel.

To his surprise, one of the men stopped in his peripheral vision and addressed him rather than continuing across the bridge.

"Young man, I seem to be too late, but please take the umbrella regardless," one man said in polite Japanese in a cultured voice.

Light turned his head to see that the man held out his open umbrella toward him. As if someone was turning up the volume on a speaker, the sound of the rain that had been falling for hours rushed to his ears. He was completely soaked, his limbs numb with cold. His hair was plastered to his face, and he had never even noticed, so deep into the morass of his thoughts he had sunken.

The man before him was in his fifties at least, his eyes kind behind his spectacles. He wore a dark colored trenchcoat and a fedora. His much younger black-haired companion hung further back in the shadows under his own umbrella as though reluctant to be seen.

Light was unused to the kindness of complete strangers, so it was with great hesitation, or perhaps great lack of muscle control, that he turned and reached out for the umbrella. Manners dictated that he not refuse a gift and insult the elderly gentleman, for his companion also had one to keep the older man dry.

The true measure of the cold hit him when he moved, for simply moving his limbs caused the sluggish blood to resume coursing through his icy veins. His teeth clenched so hard and so suddenly that he thought his jaw would crack. His fingers turned to claws, his words of thanks forgotten while his body froze up.

The man shoved the umbrella roughly into his hands, punching Light in the chest when he failed to grasp it. Even more shocking was the enormous fist that slammed into his face and brought a welcoming darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who? :)


	3. Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing as a depressed Light without turning him into a melodramatic sop is difficult.
> 
> There really was no punching... :)

The steady patter of rain was the only sound for a few moments. At 3 AM, there was not much else to make noise since all the traffic had died away and businesses had closed for the night. The street lamps faintly illuminated the two men standing in the middle of a pedestrian bridge as well as the third, who had collapsed without a word to the pavement.

It had been an odd sight that greeted them as they crested the bridge in the middle of the night in a rainstorm. One lone boy, dressed in what was probably a dress shirt and slacks, stood atop the bridge, leaning on the railing and staring off into space. He was soaked to the skin, his white shirt and undershirt translucent, and he didn't seem to care even though it was cold with the wind that was picking up. He didn't even turn his head at their approach until Wammy offered his umbrella in that paternal and gentlemanly manner of his.

The boy had looked genuinely surprised, as though he had just woken up and had no idea what was going on around him. L, his observational skills always working on overdrive, revised his estimate of the boy's age to his mid-twenties, thus making him a "young man," and decided that he was not intoxicated as L had first thought. There was coffee sitting next to the young man at the rail; he apparently had come out here to spend some time alone and lost track of time.

Mr. Wammy continued to proffer the umbrella, and the man had started to turn before his whole body convulsed. His eyes rolled up into his head as Mr. Wammy stepped forward, but he was too slow to catch him, inadvertently poking the young man in the chest with his umbrella as he tumbled bonelessly to the ground.

With a calm gained from many years of tending the scrapes and sicknesses of orphans, Mr. Wammy handed L his umbrella and knelt beside the unconscious man. L stepped closer to shelter Mr. Wammy from the rain as he turned the man over and gave him a quick examination.

"Hypothermia?" L drawled, only interested because it was keeping him from the warmth of the hotel awaiting them.

He had flown in that day to reside in person for a few weeks while he worked with the NPA on one of their cases. "Watari" had already been there for several days and had picked up L at the airport. The car had made it almost all the way back to the hotel before the the fan belt snapped and the engine overheated. It was less trouble for them to have it towed and head off on foot to the hotel, which was only a mile away. L was not concerned about being seen at an hour when most people would be asleep, but the rain had made things decidedly annoying.

"It's possible," Mr. Wammy concluded. "He hasn't an injury from hitting his head but he's freezing. He'll have a fever in the morning." The older man let the boy's eyes fall closed again after checking his responsiveness to light.

"No need to hospitalize?" L was reluctant to take him to a hospital. It would have cameras everywhere, and his paranoia would not allow him to go somewhere that heavily supervised if he could avoid it.

"No, you boys never did, even after the snows at home. Warmth and some bed rest should fix him. We should bring him back to the hotel until his family can get him." Mr. Wammy looked at him, anticipating L's objection. "No one knows you're even here or what you look like."

Mr. Wammy was just stating the obvious for L's benefit, so he nodded in grudging assent.

"Now then, would you help me get him upright?"

L shot him an annoyed glance but ultimately did as the man said. There was no arguing with someone who had been his surrogate father as well as mentor to him all his life.

The boy was underweight for his height, which was as tall as L at nearly 5'11", so once they spent a few minutes getting him into position, it was not that much trouble for L to carry him on his back. There was no question of Mr. Wammy doing it, and the boy was still unconscious, so he was no help. L groused silently as they walked, for now he was soaked as well, but at least now Mr. Wammy was carrying his bag from the airport. They headed to the hotel where they would decide, out of the rain, what to do with this unexpected turn of events.

* * *

"Well, that makes things difficult. Who leaves home without a wallet _or_ a phone?" L rolled his eyes and sat back from searching the boy's damp pockets. "The only things he's carrying are a key without any identification and some change."

Mr. Wammy finished wrapping up all of the boy's things except his trousers in a laundry bag as he replied from the living room, "It says some things about his mental state, wouldn't you say?"

"Of course," L responded flippantly. "He left somewhere in a hurry that he intended to return to, for no one would get coffee after being mugged, but also few people would leave home without either identification or a cell phone. Everyone is attached to them these days."

Mr. Wammy chuckled, but L ignored it as he continued.

"He had no idea what was going on when you spoke to him, so he was lost in rather deep thought if he could stay out in rain like that and not care. Other than that," L shrugged, "I'm not sure what's wrong with him. He's as dry as he's going to get unless we strip him, and he'd be upset at that."

L pulled the towel out from under the unconscious figure and pulled the bedcovers over him as Mr. Wammy had asked him to do. Mr. Wammy was busy with sending the boy's clothes to the laundry.

When they had brought him into the hotel room and gotten a good look at him under better lighting conditions, the boy's skin was pale, his lips blue with cold. Time spent indoors brought the color back to his cheeks, but he still shivered occasionally, and his forehead was starting to heat up with fever.

Despite the secrecy surrounding his identity, L wasn't concerned with the boy's presence. He was no threat to him or Mr. Wammy when he had martial arts training and Mr. Wammy was armed, and his secrets were in no danger from a no-name pretty boy. "Ryuzaki" would be a fine name to give the boy if it came up, and Mr. Wammy could be Watari. It was a common enough name here that there would be nothing to trace.

Mr. Wammy took the laundry into the entryway when room service knocked, and L thought through his plans, shutting off all the lights except for one small lamp in the bedroom. Quite satisfied, he returned to his bowl of chocolates in the main room, where he could watch television, use his laptop, and keep an eye on their guest through the open door.

They would have to change hotels tomorrow after the boy was gone and do another check for cameras. It was routine by now: change hotels every few days, erase camera footage and disable what they could, check every room for wireless devices, go over the rooms upon departure for any evidence left behind... It was tedious, but it had been done so long that it was habit.

Hours passed after Mr. Wammy bid him goodnight around five in the morning and went into another bedroom. The boy was sleeping in his room, but L wouldn't have needed it for a few more days. His sleep schedule was mostly naps; he only needed bed rest every five or six days. The rest of the time he ran on caffeine and sugar, both of which he was indulging in while going over case details. The sun came up, and he called a break for breakfast, which consisted of chocolate cake and English Breakfast tea with milk and nine sugar cubes. He glanced in at the boy when he returned, but there was no change.

Mildly annoyed, he returned to his files. As soon as the boy woke up, they could ask him who he was and how to contact his family or his girlfriend or roommates. Someone probably wondered where he was. This little mystery was just starting to grow less than interesting.

* * *

Though his last thoughts had been of bitter cold, rain-soaked clothes, and a total lack of control over his body, Light was now unaware of those sensations. Instead, he was only slightly chilly, surrounded by warmth, and dry. Something nagged at him, demanding his attention, but he ignored it and tried to sink back into dreamless slumber.

He could not remember the last time he had slept so soundly. Usually he could only sleep for a few hours at a time, waking inexplicably with the same miserable feelings he had during the day. Sleeping pills sometimes gave him a full night's sleep, but a sleepy fog usually lingered for hours after he woke despite the coffee he drank. It was frustrating, but there was no solution to it. It was just one more thing he had learned to live with.

He drifted away from those thoughts, floating again in the space between waking and dreaming. His dreams were forgotten in this space, but he wasn't thinking either. Numbness blanketed him, as though his mind, his soul, was connected to his body by only the thinnest of threads. What would it take to break so fragile a tether?

Without trying to, he took note of the sensations, wanting to capture the _un_ -feeling, the utter peace of this moment. Faint impressions passed through his mind; they were too formless to be called thoughts. This nothingness was the only safe place to be. No depression, no anxiety about the future, no frustration. Just this utter nonexistence. Compared to his reality, this was bliss. It was warm here, quiet and soft and safe. He never wanted to leave.

Something tickled his cheek, warm and wet, sliding along his face until it crept into his hairline. The freedom from thought was so sweet it must have brought him to tears. It damned him, however, for the sensation reminded him of consciousness. He turned in his cocoon, burying his face into the softness under his head as he tried to return to his sanctuary, his nothingness.

It was no use. He could feel it slipping away as he woke, and the joy of _not_ being depressed faded from him. It _was_ depression, that coldly logical part of his subconscious _knew_ it, even if his waking self didn't acknowledge it as a possibility.

His heart gave a final cry as dawn broke over his consciousness.

* * *

Light swam muddily up out of fever-dreams. He was freezing where he was not covered by blankets, and he burrowed further into them without even thinking about it. His eyes hurt, and he blinked the sleepiness out of them as he struggled to focus.

_Wait... where-?_

He sat up when he realized that this was _not_ his bed, and he had no memory of anything after getting coffee. A wave of nausea and dizziness assailed him, and he fell back to the bed, panting weakly as his heart raced at the sudden movement. He had seen, in the moments he had been sitting up, that the room was dark except for the faint sunlight shining around the heavy curtains over the windows. The door had been open to another room, but he hadn't had time to look at it.

To his horror, he started coughing, disgusting phlegmy coughs that racked his frame. He crawled to the edge of the bed, looking in the dimness for a trash can to spit into before the taste made him vomit. The air was freezing as it hit his bare skin, and his teeth chattered as he groped at the can located under the nightstand. His fingers couldn't reach, though, and if he leaned any further, he was going to fall off this high bed.

A pale hand appeared in his line of sight. Light jerked away, scrambling back onto the bed in shock and horror at someone seeing him in this half-dressed and deplorable state. It was too dark to see clearly, but the stranger was about his height with dark hair. He held out the wastebasket to Light and looked pointedly toward the door. The voice that came from him was unusually deep and devoid of inflection.

"Take this. I'll be outside until you're done."

Light blushed furiously while taking the can, and the man hurried out of the room, far from anxious to spend any more time with him. He coughed weakly, the pain bringing tears to his eyes as his ravaged throat complained. He got rid of all the phlegm that had built up and dropped the basket back to the floor, withdrawing back under the covers to escape the bitter cold outside them. His teeth were chattering audibly, and he tried to clench his jaw to get it to stop.

He grew aware of the presence outside returning, and he wanted to crawl under the covers and die from mortification. A complete stranger had seen him in the worst state he could remember being in, and now he probably wanted to speak to him.

Light forced his eyes open and realized the face belonging to the man was familiar. The memories of last night returned slowly, as though being dragged against their will through his jumbled thoughts. Last night was such a blur at the end of it, and his confusing dreams about nothingness were tangled with them. This man had been with the elderly gentleman from... yesterday? How long ago had he stood at the bridge?

"Can you speak?" the man asked, his low voice soothing to Light's ears when every other part of him seemed to ache.

Light tried to respond, but trying to speak only dislodged more mucus and made him cough again. It was so disgusting. The man sighed and turned to get something from the nightstand.

"Do you remember yesterday?" he asked, apparently switching to yes-or-no questions.

Light nodded as he remembered the older man offering his umbrella. His sternum ached, as though bruised, in response, and the right side of his forehead throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

He must have looked puzzled, for the man continued, "You fell on my friend's umbrella, so you have a bruise on your chest, plus you hit your head when you passed out."

The confusing sensations made sense now. Light could now recall wondering why the old man hit him, and he felt himself start to smile at his mistake.

The man wasn't done, though, and his voice brought Light back to reality. "You'll want these."

The man held out a small handful of pills and what looked and smelled like a cup of tea. The smell didn't provoke an immediate need to vomit, so Light tried to sit up, wrapping as much of the down comforter around him as he could.

He mouthed "Who?" and gestured at himself, hoping the man would get the point.

"Your clothes are in the laundry because they were soaked through minus your trousers. I assumed you would be discomfited if we removed those as well, even if you did have hypothermia," the man said in a bored tone.

Light's cheeks heated as he took the small assortment of pills, his eyes asking the question his vocal cords couldn't. The man seemed content enough to answer Light's questions as he sipped the warm brew to see if he could drink anything. The pills were going to be difficult to swallow even if the taste was bearable.

"It's aspirin, cold medication, and vitamins. My friend got them for you this morning. He's used to treating colds and the like," he continued with his one-sided conversation.

Light nodded his thanks and proceeded to take the pills one at a time. His companion seemed to lose interest and strolled to sit in a chair Light hadn't noticed before, and he pulled his bare feet up in front of him so his knees were against his chest.

"You don't have any identification on you, nor are you carrying a phone, so my friend and I were unable to notify your family or friends of your situation. Is there someone we can call to come pick you up?"

His companion chewed on a finger while Light finished swallowing with a grimace at the pain before reaching for the notepad he could see lying on the nightstand. Light grew annoyed at himself as he realized he must have left his wallet and phone in his jacket, which he knew was still on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He had not been thinking clearly when he escaped home.

He scrawled his home phone number and wrote his father's name, adding the words, "I'm Light, his son," at the bottom. It occurred to him that this man was bilingual, for he had been speaking English yesterday, but his Japanese was perfect, even if spoken in a monotone.

Light held out the notepad, again frustrated that he was so helpless. The man got up and took the paper, staring at it as he sat back down. Light set down the tea and slipped again under the covers, trying to warm up so he would stop shivering. The man seemed to stare at the paper for an unusually long time, his face unreadable. It occurred to Light that perhaps he could only speak Japanese, not read it, and he held out his hand for the pad again, intending to write the names in English, but the man's dark eyes rose again to his. There was a note of disbelief in his voice now.

"You're Yagami Light, son of Yagami Soichiro, Detective Superintendent of the NPA?"

Light's blank stare of horror must have answered the man's question, but to Light's chagrin, he knew even more.

"Your graduation from Tokyo University was yesterday. You were at the record-breaking top of your class." He tilted his head to the side and something with distant relation to a smile crossed his features. "An odd way to celebrate, isn't it, hanging out on a bridge at 3 AM?"

Light shook with more than the cold as his expression grew as frigid as the air around him. The man shrugged off his look, looking back at the paper as he dialed on the cell phone that was suddenly in his hand.

"Not my business, I suppose, but the circumstances do raise questions."

Light started coughing again as angry words tried to force their way from his throat, but they were lost to the coughing fit. To his surprise, the voice he heard speaking to the phone was at least an octave higher and more... perky. Light looked up to make sure it was still the same man speaking. Strangely, his expression was still the same, one of boredom, even though his voice sounded chipper.

"Yagami-san? I have some good news for you. Your son, Light-kun, is with me at the Four Seasons at Marunouchi. He grew ill last night and my friend and I brought him back here. I only just got your phone number because he was asleep until now." A pause while his father surely asked how he was. "He has a fever, possibly the flu, so he can't talk without coughing." Another pause. "Yes, let me give you the address so you can meet us here."

Light tuned out the rest of the conversation and lay back down, cursing his weakness. The other man finished giving directions and snapped the phone shut.

"It will be at least an hour before he gets here. Are you hungry? Can we get you anything?"

Light was hungry, but he didn't want anything so much as a shower and more time to sleep. He also wasn't sure he wanted any more handouts from this man, this complete stranger, who knew so much about him.

"I'm sure you're wondering how I know about you. Your father mentioned you to his coworkers, saying he was going to your graduation yesterday and that he was going to have to leave work early." The other man stood. "He's very proud of you, you know."

Light nodded, feeling inexplicably weary despite his earlier anger.

"Why _were_ you at the bridge?"

Light smirked, refusing to meet the man's eyes. He had already figured out most of what Light wanted to say just from his expression, and he wasn't sure he wanted the man to know that much. He wasn't about to indulge this man's curiosity just to make him feel better.

The question raised answering questions within him, though. Somehow, he recalled parts of his dream, particularly the parts about that dreamless nothingness being bliss. His mind latched onto this with the tenacity of a dying man clinging to life, except, perversely, it was the opposite.

Something this morning had made complete sense despite his fever dreams messing everything else up. He had made a decision. He sighed, his throat feeling better now that he had drunk the tea.

The other man started to turn and walk out of the room, seemingly annoyed that his curiosity was going unsated.

Light felt his face pull into a genuine smile as he whispered, more to hear himself say the words than anything else.

"I wanted to jump."


	4. Distraction

Light breathed out, shutting out thoughts of the stranger whose name he still didn't know. The footsteps continued out the door, and maybe it was only his imagination, but he heard a pause in the steps. No matter; at least the man was gone for a little while. He doubted he could fall back asleep now that he knew he was in someone else's room, but if the man had left him unmolested thus far, he probably wouldn't bother him now.

The medication must have contributed to his sleepiness, however, for he fell into a light doze before the sound of a door opening woke him back up. The voice of another man, one much older than the first, met his ears. It was probably the old man from yesterday.

Light groaned and struggled to sit up as the voices came closer, taking his time lest he grow light-headed again. He should apologize for _fainting_ on him. How mortifying. It was almost as bad as nearly throwing up while falling off the bed half-dressed in front of a total stranger.

He tried to compose his expression, for once. All his masks, that of the dutiful son, the hardworking student, and the attentive coworker, were scattered at his feet, and he was too sick to find the right one and pick it up. He settled for a drowsily complacent expression, eyes half-lidded with weariness that went down to his very bones as he hugged the voluminous comforter to his chest out of both modesty and discomfort at the chill.

"Ah, you're awake!" the older man said as he rounded the corner of the door. "Would you like me to open the curtains?"

Light rasped that he would like that, not even sure if it was intelligible, but the man seemed to understand as he moved to draw back the heavy tapestries at the window. The sudden sunlight was like a blow to the head; Light's skull exploded with pain and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Sorry about that. How is it now?"

Light opened one eye, stars dancing in front of his vision. The man had left the gauzy curtains beneath closed and only opened the tapestries a crack to let light in. He nodded, not trusting his voice. Now details of the opulent room and the men in it were clearer. The room was a typical, beautifully decorated hotel room in muted red, gold, and brown, but the level of décor was more upscale than Light had ever experienced.

The older man wore a suit and had a much thicker mustache than his father. It lent him the appearance of a kindly grandfather, especially with the way his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes behind his glasses.

The young man leaned in the doorway, scratching the back of one jean-clad leg with his bare foot. Light kept his stoic expression despite the mild disgust at the man's lack of attention to his dress; his baggy pants were too large and hung low on his hips, his loose top was too short in the arms, and his wild black hair stood on end. There were black smears under his unusually large eyes, as though he had slept in mascara like his sister occasionally did.

The old man's voice interrupted his perusal of the room.

"Would you like some tea for your throat? Honey and lemon are sure to make it less scratchy." Light's nod sent the man back to the door. "You could have told him he could use the shower," the man said to his companion, chiding him as a father would. He turned back to Light. "My friend probably forgot, but you can call me Watari, and this is Ryuzaki."

"I'm Light," he croaked, annoyed at the sound of his own voice as a tickle threatened to choke him again.

"Go ahead and use the shower. It's that door over there. There are some trousers in there that should fit you, and your other clothes just came back from the laundry." He lay a plastic-wrapped bundle on a chair inside the door. "Please call if you need _anything."_

Light read into that comment that if he found he couldn't walk, he should call one of them. His pride weathered yet another blow as his face grew stony with determination not to fall or be too weak to take care of himself. Ryuzaki's black eyes met his for a moment as he left, but he said nothing, and Light forgot about the glance.

It was difficult to move with anything approaching his normal speed after they shut the door, but the cold in the room forced him to hurry to the promise of hot water. He had staggered as though drunk, leaning on the wall and clutching furniture as he dragged the topmost blanket with him to keep from shaking so hard he thought he would lose teeth. The luxurious bathroom had a heater, and he turned it on full force before running water in the shower, hoping in the back of his mind that this much heat wouldn't kill him but not caring that much. Being this cold was _horrible._ He took note of the pants lying on the counter and saw that they were brand new, the tag still attached but the price torn off. Great, another thing to owe the man and his companion.

His image in the mirror mocked him; his hair was messy and parted over his ear, having dried while he slept, and there were bags under his eyes to match Ryuzaki's. He would look like death if not for the feverish blush across his cheeks. Still annoyed at being seen in such a state, he stripped off the rest of his clothes and climbed into the blissfully hot water. It was like melting as he felt all the muscle aches washing away and the pain in his head receding. He tried not to linger too long, and it was with vast regret that he shut off the water and pulled on a bathrobe. Cursing himself for leaving the clothes outside, he opened the door and rushed to get his clothes from the chair. The room felt like ice, and it took his breath away before he again shut himself inside his warm, steamy haven.

The pants were khaki-colored, almost an exact duplicate of his own. Light wondered briefly if they had checked the tag in order to get the size right, and that made his face even hotter. Pushing those thoughts away, he dressed himself, feeling only slightly woozy as he re-wrapped the blanket around him and left the bathroom. The bed looked inviting still, and he drifted toward it while yawning.

"Light-kun should come and get some breakfast."

A noise like a dog being stepped on ripped itself out of Light's throat at Ryuzaki's unexpected voice. One foot tangled in the blanket, leaving him no options except to fall in a graceless heap against the bed and slide to the floor, a new coughing fit rendering him even more pathetic.

Through tear-filled eyes, he swore that a smile was on Ryuzaki's face as the man knelt before him and held out a cup of tea, seeming to mock him since Light couldn't possibly hold onto it right now. Light pulled the blanket up before him, as though trying to shield himself from being seen, and willed the coughs to stop by simply not breathing, his shoulders shaking instead. When he started to grow light-headed, he breathed out slowly and lowered the blanket.

Ryuzaki's blank expression was back, and he offered the cup of tea again.

"It has the honey and lemon in it that Watari mentioned." When Light's fingers closed around the steaming cup, he stood, looking down at him from a much greater height and making Light feel like a child. "There is food in the main room, if you want to eat before your father gets here." Then he left, without another word.

Light sipped the overly-honeyed brew and marveled at how soothing it was. What was not soothing was having that man without even a modicum of social graces seeming to pop up whenever he was at his absolute worst. He had never felt so foolish or so ungainly before in his life!

Balancing carefully, he pulled himself upright and managed not to spill any tea as he made his slow way toward the door. He schooled his features into blankness before exiting the bedroom, mildly interested in the food Ryuzaki mentioned. It smelled like a Western breakfast: eggs, bacon, maybe pancakes or waffles. The smell made him faintly nauseated, but it also reminded him that it had been a long time since he'd eaten.

Watari was seated at a table with a newspaper, the remains of his breakfast before him. He looked up as Light shuffled over and stood from his chair.

"Sit down, young man. You don't need to be walking that much with a fever," Watari said.

Despite being mildly annoyed at being treated like a child, he realized it was the same thing his mother had done for him and his sister as children, so he was able to pass it off as a parenting instinct. This man probably _was_ a grandfather. Light sat at the table and wrapped his hands back around his tea. He had left the blanket in the bedroom, not wanting to look even more juvenile even though he was freezing without it.

"Did you want anything in particular?" Watari asked, moving to uncover the tray next to the table.

Light glanced at it, taking note of the extravagant breakfast as well as the boxes of... Panda cookies and Pocky? He almost wrinkled his noise at the incongruity before rasping that toast and eggs was fine. He didn't think he could handle any odd or strong tastes right now.

He tried to shrug off the discomfort at being waited on after Watari placed the food in front of him and found himself trying very hard not to shiver. His stomach and legs tensed up at the cold as he wondered how Watari and Ryuzaki could be dressed so casually in this frigidity. The older man covered the food again and headed into another room in the suite. Happy that he could eat and be miserable in peace, Light wrapped one hand around his tea and tried to butter his toast with the other just as a weight suddenly settled over his shoulders and back. He glanced up in surprise at Ryuzaki, who sauntered off to the breakfast tray after dropping Light's blanket over his shoulders.

"Light-kun forgot his blanket," he said in that deep, inflection-less voice as he turned back to Light with a slice of cheesecake that Light hadn't seen. "It would be unfortunate if he caught cold and died, especially with his father on the way."

Light stared at him, his eyes hard as Ryuzaki settled in another chair at the small table, pulling his knees up to his chest and reaching for the sugar bowl with a carefree glint in his eyes.

Well, maybe he _had_ heard what Light had said. He hadn't thought his voice could possibly carry in the state it was in. No matter; this man was still a stranger, even if he might work with his father. He had no interest in Light's well-being. Anyway, even if he did tell Light's father, who was he going to believe? A mere _coworker_ or his own perfect son? He resumed buttering his toast, watching as Ryuzaki seemingly forgot about his own existence as he stirred cube after cube of sugar into his coffee. Light had to look away after the sixth one, his stomach churning at the thought of the sugary sludge building up in the bottom of that cup. A few bites of the toast was all he could manage; it felt like razors going down his throat even if it tasted pleasant and made him feel better. The soft eggs were much easier to eat.

Ryuzaki glanced at him occasionally as he drank his sugar and ate his own strange breakfast, but he said nothing. Light guessed that he wouldn't relish hearing only the sound of his own voice since Light was unable to whisper more than a few words without lapsing into a coughing fit. To his surprise, Ryuzaki confirmed this after he finished his cake, leaning back and holding his coffee cup between his index finger and thumb.

"I'm sure breakfast would be far more interesting if Light-kun could speak." He sighed theatrically, and Light was amused by how ill-suited the gesture seemed. "Such an intelligent person could hold a good conversation, I am sure."

Light wrinkled his brow, now doubly frustrated by the man's strange comments as well as his inability to respond. It also annoyed him that this man was using his first name as though they were friends.

After Light finished as much of the food as he was willing to eat, he sat back and sipped at his tea. An awkward silence hung between him and Ryuzaki, and the man was positively _staring_ at him, his eyes betraying none of his reasons for doing so. It was giving Light the creeps, though he tried not to show it. Finally, the eyes shuttered and turned away, and he released a breath he hadn't remembered holding.

"Your father should be here soon. We should head down to the lobby; I forgot to give him the room number." He stood gracefully from his strange position and headed into the other room, presumably to get a jacket.

Light found himself sighing in regret. As uncomfortable as the last night had been, it had been a break from his dull routine. He smirked at the thought of finding this experience anything other than miserable and left the table, heading back into the bedroom to get the pants he had been wearing last night. Watari met him outside with the pants in a bag. He smiled kindly at Light, and the young man found himself returning the smile without being conscious of it.

"Thank you, Watari-san," Light whispered, that being the only way he could speak without irritating his throat. "I'm very grateful for all you've done, and sorry I was so much trouble."

Light was mostly sincere; he was sorry it had had to happen at all, for he had never put on such a terrible display for strangers before.

Watari shook his head. "I've had to deal with many sick younger people; think nothing of it. Just get some rest for the next few days," he said.

Light gave a small bow before taking the bag.

"Ryuzaki will see you downstairs," Watari finished.

Light kept the smile on his face even though he wanted to tell him that it wasn't necessary to have him escorted, especially by the other annoying man.

"Come, Light-kun," the man in question's voice came from behind him, and Light grimaced inwardly. Something about Ryuzaki rubbed him the wrong way.

Maybe they had been enemies in another life.

* * *

Light's shower had markedly improved both his appearance and disposition, L noted. He looked every bit the gentleman in clean, pressed clothes with his hair neatly falling into his eyes, even if he still looked feverish. L could have lent the man his coat since he was obviously cold, but Light was prideful, he could tell, and he would likely refuse anything he offered even if he would take things from Watari.

Now that L had stopped needling him to keep him out of his comfort zone, he had watched with fascination as walls descended with frightening ease over the boy's countenance. Only his practiced eye could see them, but they were there.

Light carried himself differently as well, which was refreshing compared to the wreck he had been this morning. He had seriously doubted this boy was Yagami Soichiro's near-famous son when he first saw him; surely no man that respectable and hard-working had a brilliant son who was so... clumsy. It was comical to watch Light grow discomfited time and time again, but it was rather more satisfying to see that he had some composure.

It spoke well for the future, L thought. Mr. Wammy had commented that he was going to anger the boy if he kept making him lose his composure, to which L had turned back to him with a rare smile.

"Oh, but that was my point entirely."

* * *

Ryuzaki had remained thankfully quiet during the elevator ride, but Light could tell that the man was thinking behind those gunmetal-gray and black eyes. About what he couldn't imagine and didn't care to. As long as he kept quiet, his presence was bearable.

Light had finally selected the right mask from the pile at his feet, and he wore his aloof yet coldly observant expression with practiced ease despite the constant headache and weakness that now plagued him. This particular face kept people from talking to him but still allowed them a measure of respectful awe at his demeanor. People were such sheep if little things like facial expressions were enough to control them.

To his chagrin, Ryuzaki seemed immune as they stepped from the elevator.

"Light-kun has such a serious expression; I wonder what he is thinking about," he said to himself.

Was this man twenty-five or twelve? He talked like an utter moron at times, but Light suspected there was a much greater intelligence than that behind those unreadable orbs. After all, a mere idiot wouldn't be able to get under his skin like this one could.

"I was wondering why you think you can call me by my first name, Ryuzaki- _san_ ," he finally bit out, still annoyed that he had to whisper in order to keep from coughing. "It's rather presumptuous."

Ryuzaki turned to him with a dopey expression, walking backwards while leading them down a plushly carpeted hallway toward a wide-open lobby furnished in cream and gold. He put one thumbnail between his teeth, grinning at him.

"But Light-kun," he lilted, "after you slept in my bed last night, I would think we were on more familiar terms."

A bomb going off could not have startled Light more. He stopped dead in his tracks, his face catching fire as though the blood that rushed to it was gasoline. His muscles clenched so tightly in both inexplicable embarrassment and sudden anger that his fingernails dug into his palms.

His jaw worked furiously before a single word "You-!" exploded from his lips, following closely by a coughing fit that wracked his frame.

Ryuzaki _laughed_ , the bastard, even though the sound was quiet. Light couldn't see him for his eyes were squeezed shut from the pain in his throat, but he fought hard to get it under control and get his composure back. It seemed to take an eternity, but he finally stood again and wiped the tears that had started to form out of his eyes.

Ryuzaki was looking at him with a playful smile on his face, which faded even as Light watched to an expression of utter seriousness to match Light's own before he made that outrageous comment.

"I was only joking, Yagami-kun. You looked so serious; I had to say something."

This man's own flawless control over his facial expressions infuriated Light. _He_ was accustomed to being the only person he knew with such a skill, and it annoyed him to be shown up by someone else.

"Light?" a voice called from further down the hallway.

Light looked over Ryuzaki's shoulder, surprised to see his father and mother approaching from behind Ryuzaki. His mother had his coat over her arm, and they both wore anxious expressions. That was only to be expected; he _had_ walked out after his graduation dinner and not returned, and he had never stayed out all night in his life.

Good sons didn't do things like that.

Light waved half-heartedly after he found that his throat was too raw to let him speak again. Damn Ryuzaki, again, for causing him to be so devoid of his usual composure. It seemed the other man would speak for him, though, for he pivoted gracefully, facing his parents as they came down the hallway.

"Yagami-san?" he greeted Light's father as they approached. "We were just coming to meet you." His voice now was as polite as any Light had heard come from the man. The man was as full of voices and personae as Light was.

"Are you the one who called?" his father asked, glancing at the man, which puzzled Light. Didn't this man work with his father? "Thank you so much for taking care of my son."

"It was no trouble, Yagami-san. My friend and I met up with your son downtown, and we brought him back here after he became ill. How good of you to bring his coat; he's quite feverish, and the chill is rather unseasonable."

Just like that, the conversation was directed away from exactly _how_ Light had met Ryuzaki. Light looked at the man with new respect as his mother started fawning over him, checking his forehead as she handed him his coat. He started to say that it wasn't necessary to fuss over him, but Ryuzaki smoothly interrupted him.

"He has lost his voice, so try not to let him speak or he'll end up coughing again," Ryuzaki said.

"We heard him on the way in here," Soichiro replied. "I can't thank you enough. Is there any way I can repay you?"

His father still referred to Ryuzaki in a polite yet unfamiliar manner, further confusing Light. He was sure Ryuzaki had said he worked with his father... wait, no. Ryuzaki had merely said that his father had told his coworkers about him. Even as Light mentally applauded the man for revealing so little about himself, he cursed him for knowing about him, somehow. It was disquieting.

"That's not necessary. I am merely glad that Yagami-kun is not sicker than he is and that he has such attentive family to take care of him. If you'll excuse me, I have some pressing matters to attend to." He backed off with a slight bow to his father and a casual wave to Light. "Take care, Light-kun. Stay out of the cold for a while."

Light's gaze arrowed into the man's back as he sauntered off, but his father was oblivious as he turned back to him.

"It's wonderful to meet people that willing to help others," his father said.

Light repressed a shudder, and his mother mistook it for a chill as she wrapped a scarf around his neck. Even with all the fussing, it felt good to be wrapped in layers.

"Let's get you home, Light. Your sister should have your room nice and warm for you. Is there anything you want or need?" she asked.

He shook his head, only wanting a few minutes of peace, following by a few days of sleep. Without Ryuzaki's presence like a splinter under his fingernail, distracting him from any other thoughts, all of his weariness came back to him. Compounded by the fever, it made him almost tired enough to stagger, and he had to put all of his concentration into just walking straight. So much for apartment hunting, not that he had been looking forward to it. The next few days would likely be filled with tedium.

He repressed another shudder at the feeling like something dark was hovering over him. Something he had forgotten about in the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write because I didn't want it to sound like mere filler, but I seem to perversely enjoy writing about Light while ill. It's such fun to write in all the mundane details and make these characters more my own. If you got to the end, thank you for bearing with my trivial minutia!


	5. Stupidity

The last ten days had been the worst of Light's life.

The doctor had diagnosed him with a serious cold with flu-like symptoms and told his parents to keep an eye on him in case it worsened. As a result, he had stayed housebound the entire time, hidden under his covers or wrapped up in as many layers as he could wear in front of his computer. He had seldom even left his room, only venturing out for scalding showers and other hygienic necessities. He had been drinking soup and tea for days since anything solid either made him nauseated or put his throat in serious pain, which inevitably resulted in a coughing fit that made it feel like he had eaten shards of glass and was now bringing them back up. He was always surprised not to see blood afterward, the pain was so great.

The medication he was taking had broken the fever, and it took away most of the muscle- and headaches, but it also had the unfortunate side effect of making his head feel packed with cotton. His thoughts moved sluggishly, like soldiers armed with toothpicks fighting their way through oatmeal... Oh, joy, now his thoughts made even less sense. Maybe mixing too much over-the-counter sore throat spray with his prescriptions wasn't helping. With the amounts of alcohol he was inadvertently taking in, he was probably half-drunk.

He could not recall ever being so bored in his life yet so unable to do anything about it. He could only drift in and out of sleep for so long, and he had tried and failed to focus enough to read. Sometimes he surfed the Internet, like he was doing now, but it barely distracted him. He had left the bed once just to get the remote, and now he had sunk so low as to watch those dramas and creepily happy morning shows that he so despised just to do _something._ When he was completely lucid, it was as though his mind was stuck in neutral, the wheels spinning but taking him nowhere. Instead they kept coming back to one particular subject, one he truly wanted to avoid. His brief thoughts in the hotel had frightened him; he'd forgotten them shortly after realizing them, but now there were no distractions to keep them away.

 _Suicide?_ Had he truly sunk that low?

It had to be the medication or being sick. He wasn't that far gone.

He shuddered, clicking on the link to another news report. The usual deluge of crime reports wasn't helping his mood, but he wasn't interested in reading blogs or checking his email. It's not like there was anyone sending him mail anyway.

Funny, that. He didn't want his supposed friends' company, having never been interested in keeping their friendship in the first place, nor did he want to see his family, for they were only concerned about leaving him alone to recover and not causing him undue stress, but that left _nothing_ to offer him any sort of stimulus. Without schoolwork, he had nothing to occupy his time.

This was the first time in Light's life that he realized he had no hobbies. There was nothing he did in his spare time that he actually _enjoyed._ He merely killed time until he could either go to sleep or go to school.

He felt a bitter smile twist his lips as he realized that he had _felt_ more in that mortifying hour or two with the two strangers than he had in the last few years. He knew now that he had let Ryuzaki get under his skin with those not-quite-insults and the strange comments, but he had been too preoccupied with being sick to be worried about his behavior as well. Watari had been a pleasant counterpoint to his companion's abrasiveness, and together, they had derailed his thoughts from the dangerous direction they had headed in.

He felt the smile fade away to be replaced by his usual blank expression. Being catapulted back into his usual, tiresome routine had cursed him, submerging him once again in the tedium that would surely kill him. Now there was nothing keeping the dark thoughts away; nothing except sleep and news reports. He had tried reading editorials, horoscopes, movie reviews, anything that there was a link to on the page he was currently perusing, but it was all sheer idiocy. It was mind-numbing to read the opinions of those beneath him in intelligence, especially when it concerned things he really didn't care about anyway, and he was rapidly losing his patience.

Being alive, being a genius, it was so damn _pointless,_ sometimes. He didn't even know why he regretted being sick. It was a change of pace, and it was keeping all the reminders of the world's inevitable collapse away, after all.

He shut off the computer, suddenly annoyed at its presence. Slamming his chair back into his desk, he found himself getting progressively angrier as he moved to his closet. He yanked out his heaviest coat and one of the knit caps from his grandmother that he almost never wore but kept out of politeness.

Still not entirely sure what he was doing, he pulled on the clothes almost viciously, feeling an inexplicable need to _get out_. It was suffocating in here, and he was more angry than he could ever remember being. The sudden emotion was almost frightening in its intensity.

He left the warm safety of his room and the top floor for the first time in almost two weeks. He still had a cough and sore throat, but with the fever gone, he was relatively mobile, merely easily tired. Light didn't care; the cold could come back full force as long as he saw something other than the inside of his room, thought about something other than the darkness lurking in the corners of his mind.

Thankfully, his family was out of the house and unable to question him as to what he was doing as he slammed open the front door. His hands shook as he locked it, nearly dropping the keys in the darkness. It was early evening, probably eight or so. He had been forced to ignore the passing of time while he had been trapped in his room. It would have only contributed to the sense of crushing boredom.

The air was only slightly chilly, but his sensitivity to the cold made him turn up the collar on his coat as he set off toward the trains, still clueless as to where he wanted to go. The walk and train ride was a blur as he found himself deposited in one of the many neighborhoods comprising Aoyama.

His jaded eyes scanned the stores before him, skipping over restaurants and bookstores and coffee shops and a myriad of other places. The garish lights glared, advertising the businesses like painted whores to the general public. Sometimes, Light wondered how he could exist in such a place; there was so much emphasis on outward appearances everywhere he looked, but there was no substance, nothing intellectual, to be had.

He started walking, not finding anything that caught his interest but merely finding solace in walking. The freakish anger had bled out of him on the train, leaving him more dead inside, if that was even possible. He felt two-dimensional, a mere facsimile of a young and exuberant Yagami Light. They had the same features, the same build, but now he was empty inside, his glassy eyes devoid of life and his once-brilliant mind cobwebbed with disuse. He had died years ago, but no one had told him, and his body kept going through the motions of life like a doll that someone had forgotten to turn off.

He spotted a coffee shop, one in the same chain that he had visited on the day of his graduation, and he shied away from it, unwilling to repeat the incident that had so compromised his pride. Up ahead, a business called The Blue Note beckoned with its muted lights and the soft, nonabrasive music that trailed out the open front door.

Having never really been a fan of what was likely blues or jazz, yet finding it more appealing than the perky pop that polluted most restaurants and coffee houses, he found himself stepping inside. It was darker in here than he was accustomed to, but the subdued lighting offered a measure of solace. It suited his dark thoughts.

There was a long wooden bar along one wall and a piano in the corner, currently resting unused even as its ivory keys lay exposed, almost inviting him to play it. It had been years since his piano lessons as a child, but Light had never forgotten the little thrill it had given him to make sweet music from a device made of wood and metal. In his childish mind, it shouldn't have been possible for both delightful and sorrowful sounds to come from a mere tool.

He turned from his thoughts, his gaze passing over the patrons talking quietly to themselves at smaller tables scattered throughout the long yet narrow wood-paneled room. There were a few sitting at the bar, but they were clustered at one end, so he found his steps taking him to the opposite end, the one nearest the piano. Unobtrusive instrumental blues was playing on piano and saxophone, the tune suitable as background noise and not as something to be appreciated for music's sake.

Despite his intentions, he found himself glancing at the piano again. The joy he found from playing it had dissolved at a young age. Everything had come too easily to him even as a child, and his attention span at that time had been shorter than it was now. After his teacher and his mother had gotten through congratulating him for his skill, which had surpassed students easily twice his age, he had given it up. Like tennis would later in life, the piano had let him down by being an opponent too easy to conquer. After that, he had changed his pursuits to more competitive ones, such as academics and sports, hoping to find the thrill of a challenge in competing with other individuals, but they also failed him.

Light sighed inaudibly and took a seat on one of the barstools. He hooked the heels of his shoes on a rail running around the base of the chair's legs and found the position to be distinctly uncomfortable. How people enjoyed sitting at these things was beyond his comprehension. Having never even set foot in a bar before, Light stared blankly at the wall ahead of him, not sure any more why he was here. Bars were places for shallow people who needed alcohol in order to get over their nerves or forget about their day at work. He was neither shallow nor dependent on mere intoxicants to amuse him.

The bartender stood off to his left, drying glasses while occasionally commenting on something the other patrons said in low voices. He glanced over at Light, but when he refused to met the bartender's gaze, he looked away again.

At least this place was quiet compared to the sounds of life in the streets. Perhaps that was why he was in here. There was music playing only loud enough to blot out the sound of his thoughts, and there was not enough chatter in the room to shatter the dubious peace he could feel descending. Not wanting to sit here without buying anything, Light tried to recall something his father and his future coworkers had ordered at his graduation dinner before meeting the bartender's gaze.

"What can I get you?" the man asked, his voice modulated to be friendly but not pushy as he stepped over to him. Light pulled out his identification to show the man and tried to word his order as the other men had with a casual nonchalance.

"Just a rum and Coke, please, and a coffee."

His voice thankfully wasn't raspy or raw anymore, but it was still easy to start coughing if he said too much. The man nodded and asked him if he wanted to start a tab; Light pulled out his check card as he had seen them do and handed it over. There seemed to be many common practices related to functioning in a bar environment, but he had not had any real interest in learning them in the past. However, he could observe and mimic behaviors like no other. Other than maybe Ryuzaki.

He snorted to himself at that thought and started to run a hand through his hair before he remembered he was wearing a hat, moving his hand to look like he was brushing lint off his coat instead. Bits of conversation floated to him, and to his annoyance, the women at the other end of the bar were talking about him. They were being quiet about it, not squealing like high-schoolers, but they laughed to themselves and commented on his appearance. At least it was positive.

He wrapped a hand around the cold drink that was suddenly there, courtesy of the unobtrusive bartender. He started to lift it when the man leaned closer to him and said, "Your drink was on them, sir."

 _Oh, good grief._ He tried not to roll his eyes as he looked toward the three ladies, noticing that their drinks looked the same as his. More incomprehensible "bar rituals," he was sure. He lifted it in a toast as his father and friends had toasted him, and they mimicked the action.

He took a sip and thankfully managed not to grimace at the taste. Where was the Coke in this? It tasted like a biting burn in the back of his throat and sugar, that was all, and it smelled like rubbing alcohol. Disgusting. It almost made him cough, it was so bad, but he understood that to choke on a drink was tantamount to being caught naked in public; it was utterly shameful. He swallowed the rest in a hurry, having no desire to linger over it.

The sounds of polite laughter came again from beside him, and he threw the ladies another cheap smile, as they were so obviously amused by him, before turning back to the wall. Morons, all of them.

He sipped his coffee to get rid of the taste and relished the flavor; it had been almost two weeks since he had tasted any, having been confined to tea. At least this didn't taste vile. Drinking was so overrated.

He glanced over to the ladies' end of the bar and noticed that they were having martinis. He didn't know the first thing about those, and he didn't want to look like he was copying them, so he tried to think of something else to order, unsure why he was still here. At least it was better than being back in his room, and as long as he didn't feel himself getting tipsy, he would be fine. All he had to do was get back to the train before midnight, go home, and get past his mother without her realizing he had been drinking.

Wasn't that a funny thought, though? Yagami Light, top student at Tokyo University, future NPA agent and detective, staggering drunk down the streets in Tokyo because he was too _bored_ to do anything else and frightening his mother by staying out all night after being sick because he'd already pulled that stunt once in the last two weeks! He was such a failure.

Speaking of his mother, he pulled out his cell phone and sent a quick text to Sayu. He didn't want to make a phone call in public to his mother, but she didn't use text messaging, hence the message to his sister. He didn't use any ridiculous shorthand, instead using proper Japanese in his texts.

"Sayu, tell Mom that I'm out downtown. I'm at a bookstore and I'm all bundled up, so tell her not to worry."

"Do you have any drink specials today?" he asked when the bartender came by after he beckoned, remembering that his father's friends had used a menu sometimes.

The man handed over a menu, and Light skimmed it, hoping to find something a little less awful than rum and not-Coke. His phone vibrated with Sayu's reply that she would tell his mother, and he snapped it shut and returned it to his pocket.

"An Irish coffee, please," he decided. He liked coffee, and Matsuda-san seemed to like these, having ordered two or three of them at his dinner.

 _What am_ _I doing?_ He thought belatedly. _This isn't going to solve anything._

Light really couldn't think of anything else to do, though. It wasn't as though he hadn't exhausted his other options: school was over, work wasn't going to challenge him, his family had failed for years to stimulate him, and his classmates were idiots.

Didn't people go to bars when they hit rock bottom? Didn't they walk in sad and lost and leave with renewed purpose, having found that, once hitting bottom, the only place they could go was up? Didn't bartenders hand out advice like tokens to a free concert, offering their life's experiences in the hopes that they would inspire those souls too afraid to go to church for help?

No, that idiocy only happened in movies, his mother's dramas, and his sister's romance novels. Real life was meaningless; he knew that now.

The Irish coffee, when he got it, was much more palatable as long as he didn't breathe too deeply; it still smelled like cleaning products, but the taste was creamier and faintly sweet. He nursed this drink, his gaze moving back to the piano.

"Do you play, sir?" the bartender asked as he cleared away Light's empty glass.

Light looked at the bartender, trying to ignore the fact that his gaze was a little slow to catch up with his head.

"I did," he said, and was pleased to find that the alcohol had cleared the everpresent crud out of his throat. He didn't feel that annoying tickle that preceded a cough anymore. "I used to play; it's been over 10 years." His voice sounded slightly deeper than normal, but that was acceptable.

"Our patrons are welcome to play, and no one will criticize, for there have been some… rather unusual performances."

Light found himself smiling slightly as he sipped at the coffee.

"Well, when you put it that way..."

It had been a long time since Light felt anything like carefree enough to play in front of others. The last time he had played, he had been around ten years old and only playing for the other piano students and their parents. He had never done a truly public performance, but then again, he was in a bar, surrounded by strangers that were at least as intoxicated as he was. He wasn't even recognizable in his hat and coat, and ultimately, that made up his mind. As long as this very slightly intoxicated piano player couldn't be traced back to himself, everything was fine. He left the alcoholic drink at the bar and took his coffee with him.

A muted cheer went up from his admirers at the end of the bar, and some of the other patrons turned to look, but Light shut them out as he sat down. Taking a last swig of his coffee, he tried to recall what he had last performed, flexing the fingers that had grown much longer over the decade that he had not played. A series of notes fell like raindrops as he tested out the keys, trying to remember how it had felt to use them, and relishing the sound as the raindrops turned to sounds like rolling thunder as he moved down toward the lower notes.

He glanced off to the left as he tried to accompany the saxophone now playing solo over the bar's speakers. It was the first thing he could think of to do, and it bought him time to try to play something else.

Almost without thinking about it, he found himself segueing into Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata." He absently took note of the music overhead being shut off as the piece began.

He had heard his mother playing this in his earliest memories, back when they had a piano in their home. He would linger in the doorway after he was supposed to be in bed, listening to the somber opening notes and seeing her tranquil expression as she played, eyes closed and facial muscles slack. She would play several pieces and then, eyes still closed and that quiet peacefulness on her face, tell him to go back to bed. She was never angry; in fact, he knew now that she had enjoyed playing for him. It was one of few truly happy memories that he had.

He recalled most of the notes from memory; his young mind had taken them in like a sponge absorbs water. His movements grew more fluid as he remembered how to hold his hands and how to move them. It felt... satisfying to play. He felt a small smile on his face as he finished, leaving the piano to go back to his drink.

One of the ladies that had bought him a drink moved to the piano in his place, and as she passed him, she said in a petulant tone that he should not have stopped so soon. He shrugged, having satisfied his curiosity as to whether he could still play, and finished off his Irish coffee. It was too much coffee, though, and he set the regular coffee aside, perusing the menu for something different while the girl behind him played a more rousing tune for her friends.

He ordered a shot next, curious as to why these were so often avoided in polite company. He knew they were stronger, but they had more interesting names. He ordered a "Red-headed Slut" just because it sounded obscene. It was strange to hear himself saying such crude words, and he laughed, cutting the sound off abruptly. He felt self-conscious now for laughing, tossing back the drink as he had seen others do to keep himself from focusing on how awkward he felt.

It was cold and juicy sweet, deliciously so, but the burning afterbite of alcohol was strong and strangely warm. He tried to keep from smacking his lips as he washed the flavor out of his mouth with his coffee. Now it was making him unusually hot as it pooled warmly in his stomach. He could feel the heat in his face, and he loosened the collar of his coat to allow some air in. His vision was slow to focus each time he moved his head, and he shook it a little to study the sensation further. How strange; he was almost growing dizzy. He felt another queer smile trying to form on his face and wiped it away. He must look a fool!

Meanwhile, the two other ladies had moved closer to him, ostensibly to be closer to their friend, and he had the distinct sensation of being looked upon as prey. Their eyes had a peculiar gleam to them, and Light realized that they were probably far more drunk than he, even though he wasn't drunk. He wasn't that careless. They smiled, he felt his face pulling itself into a smile in return, and he tried to glance back over the menu, not sure what else to do since he didn't feel like leaving yet. The print was so small he was having a hard time reading it.

"Hey," one of the girls said with unusual eloquence, and Light threw her a blank look. "Try one of these if you like those." She pushed a shot at him and held up her own, having bought a round for him and her friends. "It's a Blond-headed Slut, hahaha! Cheers."

He picked it up the new drink with growing discomfort despite the smile he tried to paste on. The girl that offered it _was_ a blond, and she seemed fairly wasted; he really hoped she wasn't trying to imply something. He didn't _want_ their attention in the first place, and this wasn't his best attempt at staying cool and composed since he was probably mildly intoxicated. They seemed oblivious, though, and he took the shot with them, telling himself that he probably needed to stop since he was still sick. This resolution lasted until he had another shot of something or another given to him by the only girl that hadn't bought him one yet. This one was cloyingly sweet as well with a name like "Royal Flush" or something. It was getting hard to think and remember all these names.

"You know," the dark-haired girl that had been playing stood from the piano, "you should play again. You were pretty good."

Her words were slurred, and Light felt uncomfortable being around so many drunks. These were not people he would choose to socialize with normally, and their unpredictability bothered him.

At least sitting at the piano would get them further away from him, so he stood and moved with unusual difficulty in a straight line to the piano. He was unused to being on his feet after being in bed so long, he reasoned to himself, blaming the blush he could feel on his cheeks on the fever coming back.

He sat for a moment, trying to think of what to play and finding that his eyes were trying to cross. He shook his head, eliciting a much stronger dizzying sensation, before starting to play a random piece from Mozart's repertoire. He couldn't recall the title right now, but it was a fairly difficult piece that demanded all of his attention. He sank into a blissful thoughtlessness as his hands moved with fluid precision over the notes. He had never felt as though the keys were an extension of his hands, but there seemed to be no separation between him and the music, as though they were one with each other. He didn't even to think to recall the notes; they flowed out of his fingers as his eyes fell shut and he lost himself.

He didn't know how long he played, but he moved from that piece back to Beethoven, choosing a more mournful tune rather than an invigorating one. The slower ones suited him more as he launched into the simple opening to "Fur Elise," another of his mother's favorites. Notes dropped like sakura petals, drifting slowly to the floor in the stillness around him as though he played alone in some dark concert hall, the only light a single beam from above, illuminating his tiny self in this vast room. He was only peripherally aware of the silence of the other patrons, focused only on the music and himself.

When it was over, it was like waking up. His fingers stilled on the keys as his eyes fluttered open, and he felt a sense of loss, as though something was leaving him. Something wet touched his hand, and he so slowly tilted his head down so as not to disturb the tranquility of the moment. His lips parted slightly, a dreamy lassitude coming over him as he studied the back of one hand. There it was again, the feeling like warm rain...

Reality invaded his senses with uncharacteristic harshness, breaking up the feelings of solace. He was crying. He was in public, probably drunk, and _crying_.

Swallowing awkwardly, he pretended to smooth the hair out of his eyes as he wiped away the unexpected tears. He stood, cursing the fact that his legs now felt like jelly and the world was tilting. He steadied himself with a hand on the piano and turned around. His heart flew into his throat.

He was being stared at. By everyone.

His motion seemed to break their reverie, and smiles broke out almost in unison. Some clapped with polite reservation, some cheered or complimented him, and his "lady friends" seemed to be lost in rapturous admiration. He smiled for them, but he felt incredibly foolish inside. Never had he let himself get so carried away, so lost in himself, in public. He had taken something privately enjoyable and put it on display while both sick and intoxicated.

He moved to the bar, feigning nonchalance with incredible difficulty, and asked to close his tab while leaning heavily on the bar. He signed the receipt with a barely legible hand and tried to leave. He had to wave off the ladies' compliments and displeasure at his departure, but he needed to get out _now_ before he lost it, it being his composure, his dignity, his sanity, who knew what else.

He took small steps out of the Blue Note, finding that was the only way to keep from stumbling or shuffling noisily. Once outside, he put as much distance between himself and the bar as he could before he had to stop or be sick. His feet refused to move in a straight line, and he knew he was weaving when it seemed like everyone was trying to get in his way while walking down the sidewalk. His stomach had been churning since he stood up from the piano, and he was far from willing to throw up in front of all these people, so he stopped and leaned against a wall. It was a Friday night, and there were people everywhere, so he pulled out his phone with shaking hands to give himself an excuse to stop.

Stopping made him almost as dizzy as walking, and there were vapor trails leading from every source of light. Light squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to will away the sensation that he was on a boat caught in a storm. His face was hot, probably still overheated from the bar. Dimly he recalled the fact that people felt warmer when drunk, and, he admitted now, he was probably _trashed_. He had lost count of the drinks he had consumed on an empty stomach while taking prescription cold medication, and on top of that, he had never had more than a glass of wine or two in his life! He was such an idiot. He was every bit as stupid as those around him.

His eyes burned, but he bit his lip to distract himself and put his phone away after seeing that it was only ten o'clock. There was a small park with a playground a short distance down and across the street; it was dark because no one would be using it at this hour. He headed for this beacon purposefully, trying to stay close to the walls of the buildings in case he needed to steady himself. Every now and then he got an odd look from one of the passersby, and his face burned with shame at his own foolishness. He turned his collar back up and hid as much of his hair under his hat as he could, unwilling to be recognized by anyone.

Crossing the street was going to be a problem since he couldn't lean on any walls, but he took his time moving to join the crowd waiting to cross. As long as he didn't move too quickly, he should be fine.

His head swam as the cars rushed by so close to him and the others. He had to stop looking or he was going to be sick. Finally, the crosswalk signal lit up, and he fell in with the crowd as they moved across the road. He tried with every bit of his concentration not to wobble or stumble, mostly staring at the lines to guide him, but when he looked up nearly halfway across, he almost fell over in horror as his knees grew suddenly weak.

The man walking toward him from the other side of the street looked frighteningly similar to Ryuzaki, even though he wore a scarf almost up to his nose to ward off the chill. The same dark eyes, the same wild hair...

Light looked away immediately, not taking his chances if it was him and studying his coat, brushing off imaginary dirt. His heart hammered in his chest with mortification, wanting more than anything for this man _not_ to be Ryuzaki, or at least not to recognize him if he was. If _anyone_ he knew saw him in this state, he was going to die of shame. Literally.

But somehow being seen like this by Ryuzaki was so much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally planned for this chapter to have more scenes, but it was getting out of control with the wordiness. As much as I wanted to make Light a goofy drunk or make the scenes funnier, it just seemed wrong and horribly OOC, even if he was trashed. That was another challenge, writing a believably drunk Light.


	6. Decision

The man was almost past now, if it was Ryuzaki. Light studied the ground intently, willing his feet to go straight forward and not take him inadvertently into this man's path. Damn him for getting so drunk! He had lost his mind!

A car horn shattered the relatively quiet drone of vehicles and chatter off to his left, and Light jumped in surprise, not the only pedestrian to do so as some fools tried to alert their friends to their presence. He glanced quickly over at some good-natured shouting between a group of people on the sidewalk and the people in the vehicle that had beeped, but Light had no ears or eyes for them. Instead, he felt something bump into his right shoulder just as he was taking a step, his eyes still looking off to the left.

"Oops."

That was the word Light heard the other man say, but it certainly was not the one that exploded in his head at the realization that he had run into someone. His balance was thrown off just enough to make him panic.

It was like watching a movie, one of those slow motion action sequences meant to capture every movement, every expression in excruciating detail... except Light was the star of this show, wobbling as he tried to regain his balance without causing a scene by windmilling violently into the other passersby. He twisted agonizing slowly and tried to put his foot down, failing miserably when the alcohol seemed to mock him by causing the ground to move again. Gravity, unwilling to be ignored, reached out and took hold off his tenuously balanced frame and pulled. Now, this slow motion action continued complete with a mental soundtrack composed of all the obscenities Light had never uttered in his well-mannered life.

He gritted his teeth in fury, his eyes darting sharply to the right, intent on finding the source of his imminent humiliation. He toppled slowly like a tower of Jenga blocks, his right arm slow to fall with him, instead looking as if he was reaching to grab an invisible rope. The equally stunned person beside him seemed to grow taller as his viewpoint approached ground-level.

It _was_ Ryuzaki pulling the scarf down the slightest bit with one finger as he watched, wide-eyed with surprise.

The gods must _hate_ Light.

The movie stopped, and reality caught up with a thud as Light hit hard on his left hip but mostly on his bottom, falling like a child who has just gone ice-skating for the first time. His legs splayed before him and his left hand scraped where he had tried to catch his weight. When his eyes opened (when had they closed?), they met a concerned but amused stare.

"I'm sorry, sir!" Ryuzaki said, the tone of his voice completely incongruous with the amusement in his eyes. The words were intended for those around Light.

He reached out a hand to help Light stand up, and Light, even though he wanted nothing in this world more than to slap it away, took it because he doubted he could get to his feet as drunk as he was, plus he was still in the middle of the road. He couldn't speak; if he did, Ryuzaki would be able to smell that he had been drinking, and he might even slur.

He clamped his lips tightly and stood with the other man's help, but Ryuzaki had either pulled too hard or Light had lost his balance again. Only Light's other hand kept him from colliding with Ryuzaki's chest and looking distinctly like the girls on the covers of cheesy romance novels. Unfortunately, this still put him nose to nose with the dark-haired man, who promptly wrinkled _his_ nose.

"Is Light-kun trying to pickle himself?" he asked quietly, his scrunched eyes widening into a doe-eyed expression.

Light, mortified further, pushed him away and dropped Ryuzaki's hand. He turned his head to the side and pretended to cough, waving a hand dismissively as though Ryuzaki had it all wrong. When he turned back, he continued to hold his hand over his mouth and look sick, which was easy to do.

"It's all the sore throat spray. I'm sorry for running into you. If you'll excuse me..." he said and turned immediately.

Unwilling to remain in the middle of the crosswalk, he stalked off and tried to keep his tenuous footing with the alcohol raging through his blood along with the pain in his hip where he'd fallen. He hoped more than anything now that Ryuzaki would _not_ follow. It seemed every other wish of his was doomed to go unfulfilled, so maybe _this one_ would come true.

Damn that man. He was always in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seemed Light was destined to always be caught at his worst in front of him.

* * *

L was thinking exactly the same thing. It was disappointing, actually. He had been hoping for the last few days to be able to meet with Light under better circumstances than in the hotel, but his father continued to say each day that his son was still ill. The rest of the team knew of Light, plus Light was joining the NPA in a matter of days. L's window of operation was rather small, but he had been sure that he would have an opportunity sooner or later.

After discussing it very briefly with Wammy when it was L's choice more than anything else, he had asked Soichiro that morning for permission to administer some tests to Light. The man was interested in having his son join L's investigation, claiming that Light was preternaturally brilliant yet needed a challenge. The man might not be as insightful as L, but he did see the need for something to stimulate Light mentally. If his test scores were anything to go by, Light was having an easy time of some of the most difficult tests and courses in Japan.

L thought tonight would be a good time to observe the boy when he wasn't ill, for Soichiro had already called him and told him that Light was out, so he would tell Light about the testing the next day. Rather than waiting, L had jumped on the opportunity to get an idea of how Light behaved in public. On a completely unrelated note, he wanted to go procure his own sweets, and there were bakeries everywhere in Japan, even ones staffed entirely by fake French maids. He shuddered momentarily, brushing aside the memory of the time he'd walked into one.

Wammy, being an inventor and in the employ of the world's most renowned detective, had tinkered with as well as had access to a great many illegal devices. It wasn't a difficult matter to trace a cell phone; almost every cell phone had a GPS or tracker embedded inside, whether the owner knew it or not. L had simply instructed Wammy to start scanning, starting from the Yagami home outward in an ever-increasing diameter. It wasn't the most precise system in the world, considering that they were "borrowing" both private and government equipment, but it was smarter than blindly going out in Tokyo and trying to find one lone person.

The search had given a radius of about a city block in Aoyama, and L had been willing to work with that. It was always enjoyable to use the equipment he had access to for other than strictly professional purposes, although this could arguably be professional in the future. L smiled to himself as he set out, wrapping a scarf around his neck as protection against the abnormal chill as well as people in general. In addition, he didn't want the very object of his observation to know who he was.

He had been nearing the block that Light's cell phone had been located in, studying the businesses from across the road to see which one he might be inside. For reasons he was starting to understand, Light was trying to conceal himself, which was why L didn't recognize him until he was nearly on top of the boy in the middle of the road. That abnormal amber-honey hair was hidden under a watchcap, but the facial features were unmistakable. L didn't have an eidetic memory for nothing, and profiling and observation were his specialties.

Light had been looking down, which immediately made L suspect that the other boy had already seen him. Light struck him as being more observant, his eyes darting everywhere when introduced to a new setting before relaxing. This studious ignorance of his surroundings stood out. In the moment L had to study the boy, he also noticed the tenseness and slightly unstable gait. Now that was odd. Either Light had hurt himself or...

The car horn had derailed further thoughts as half the people walking across the intersection jumped in surprise, throwing various insults and muttering under their breath at the rudeness. Light veered slightly off-course as he glanced to the side, which L noticed too late as he stepped right into his path.

Light had stumbled, and L had frozen as he realized what was wrong. Light was _intoxicated!_ He caught the faintest breath of alcohol and put it together with the boy's disguise and his manner of walking to reach that conclusion. That fact shocked and annoyed him as he watched the boy's face color slightly with rage when recognition dawned in his eyes just before he hit the ground.

L had not wasted the opportunity to further discomfit Light by asking him about his drinking after seriously invading his personal space. It was too much fun to pass up, this constant annoying of the other man, but at least to L, it made sense to do to keep him from focusing on himself.

L watched Light leave, intending to see where he was going since it was not in the direction of the train station. He crossed the road and hung back, watching Light's progress from across the street. Light seemed oblivious, however, not looking around at all and focused straight forward. His steps were even more uneven now, and he stayed close to the buildings. He had probably hurt himself falling like that.

L added Light's alcoholism to his growing profile on the boy and decided that this was not normal. No one could make grades like he had in school and be the perfect son in front of his parents while concealing alcoholic tendencies. According to his father's offhand comments, he didn't socialize much and didn't date at all, preferring normally to stay home and study. He wasn't even involved in extracurricular activities other than being the class representative, and that was only due to his status as the best student.

This was probably an isolated incident, hence the boy's obvious embarrassment as well as his attempt to conceal his appearance. It had almost worked, too; L was just too good at his job to be fooled up close. He also doubted someone as concerned with his public appearance as Light was would be caught drunk in public on purpose. Maybe this was his first time, and he hadn't realized how it would affect him.

L frowned. If that was true, and it was his first time, there were too many things adding up here. Yagami Light, genius, detective, and perfect son or not, was suffering from major depression and had been for years if L's deductions were correct based on his study of Light's files as well as comments made by his family members.

L had started inquiring, as 'concerned friend Ryuzaki,' about Light's mental state as part of his research. He had visited the home as Ryuzaki, hoping to talk to Light but turning the situation to his advantage when he found that Light had the flu and would not leave his room. Instead, Light's mother had made him tea, and she and Sayu had been willing to answer his carefully worded questions. He had asked that they not tell Light that he had dropped by, claiming that Light would be upset if he had been unable to greet visitors.

According to records and his family, Light had long ago dropped piano and tennis, winnowing out all of his extracurricular activities until school became his entire existence. His teachers had reported him as being "very studious and driven, yet very cold toward his classmates." Light's family said that he seldom smiled, and his mother had even said that she had worried years ago that he was depressed. Sayu had seemed surprised, and Mrs. Yagami had explained her reasons, inadvertently disclosing them to L as well. Her maternal intuition had been correct, but she had buried the suspicion when Light started being more friendly. L chalked it up to acting skills.

Add those observations to the fact that he and Wammy had found him on a bridge, alone and miserable, in the middle of the night on the day of his graduation, which by all rights should have been a celebratory occasion, and now this...

Light was now not only depressed, but suicidal. L had not heard wrong in the hotel.

* * *

Light stopped again to quell the growing nausea in his stomach. It was taking forever to reach that park. If he didn't know better, he would swear that it was moving further away just to taunt him. Thus far, he had not heard Ryuzaki's annoying voice or seen the man's scarecrow hair in his peripheral vision. He counted himself lucky and plodded along his way, wincing at the bruise surely forming on his hip.

If he could just make it there, he could sit down for an hour or so and let the miserable buzz go away. If he didn't get sick first...

Finally, he reached the open space carpeted with carefully tended grass and a few flowers. There was a pavilion on the side farthest from the street, and he headed toward that, noticing that the playground itself was deserted and there were no people sitting on the benches closer to the sidewalk. Satisfied that no one could see him, he dropped the pretense of being sober and half-ran to the garbage can sitting just under the edge of the pavilion's roof.

He spent several minutes ridding his stomach of all its contents, hoping that the noise was indiscernible to passersby. The garbage itself smelled foul and made him want to continue long after he was done. There was a water fountain nearby, and he shambled over and rinsed his mouth as well as he could, stopping only when the bitterness no longer remained. He stood there for a moment, considering, then bent and washed his sweaty face with the icy water as well. It made the headache that was slowly forming start to recede even if it made him shiver. Shaking the water off the edge of his cap, he moved over to the benches under the pavilion and sat down, cradling his face in his hands, which rested on his knees.

He was miserable. His stomach still rolled even though he was positive nothing remained after that vigorous fight he'd had with the garbage can. His breathing was still elevated, his face flushed, and he was still drunk. It wasn't even a pleasant buzz as he had heard described. He felt out of control, clumsy, foolish. Embarrassed.

To top this whole stupid evening off, Ryuzaki had seen him _again_ under horrible circumstances. He must have radar on him to sense whenever Light was doing something idiotic. He had to be following him. There was no way that was coincidence.

Light looked up, suddenly as wary as he could be while still wasted. There was no one in the park, maybe. His vision was still furred, and it smeared like bleeding watercolors if he moved his head too quickly. About fifty meters away, people intermittently crossed the sidewalk in front of the entrance to the fenced-in park. They were too far away to make out clearly in the dimness. Unless Ryuzaki could turn invisible, he was not here.

Light laughed at that. Something about the man being invisible and following him struck him as insanely funny. It explained why he was always there when Light was messing up. Maybe Ryuzaki was just a figment of his imagination, a manifestation of his conscience that only appeared when he was endangering himself and being foolish.

"Where were you when I walked in there?" he asked indignantly, referring to the Blue Note. "Why didn't you stop me from having all those drinks?"

It wasn't fun to question his conscience when it didn't respond, though, so he quieted and sunk back into his melancholy, the transition as easy as breathing.

This was hopeless. The whole situation. Getting drunk had solved nothing, and being drunk was only getting him in more trouble. It had been a huge mistake to begin with, and Light had thought he was a better person than that. Apparently, he was every bit as foolish as those around him, the very people he looked down upon with condescension because they were shallow and unintelligent. Being a genius counted for nothing, apparently.

However, that was all he was. A prodigy, a genius, a smart child. He hadn't done anything other than be smart his entire life. Without brains, he would be nothing, just another _sakura_ petal drifting down to be crushed underfoot at the entrance ceremonies. What had his entire life amounted to thus far? Numerous awards for being the top of his class and top in the nation, for being smarter than everyone else in layman's terms. Praise aplenty for his brilliance, his wit, his supposed charm. Nothing of substance stood out in his memory.

He had proved he had potential, that was all. If he died right now, there was nothing worthwhile anyone could say at his funeral other than that. He could hear the pitying voices now.

"That Yagami boy, he was such a bright child."

"Such a waste of potential. He could really have done something with his life."

"His parents must be so upset. He was a good son."

"It's a pity he didn't make it into police work. He would have been good at it."

That's right, Light had done nothing with his life. His world had shrunken, the unnecessary piano and tennis and friends sloughing off like dead skin when he outgrew them until all he had were his studies, his ranking. Now that those were gone as well, his world had turned into a black hole, a sucking voracious darkness, a vacuum. There wasn't anything for him anymore. No more challenges, no more set coursework to keep him busy. There was only day after day after day to wake up, go to work, and be confronted with his worthlessness as the world continued its death spiral.

"Being a genius isn't something wonderful," he exhaled the words rather than voicing them, moving his lips slowly, his eyes trained on the cement below him. "It's a curse. Genius is a curse." Being so 'smart' had only let him see his inevitable doom ahead of time.

Light closed his eyes when his vision went watery, feeling more exhausted than ever before, but there was no one to see him this time. He let his hands fall between his knees, just keeping his head down. Rain began to fall with a susurration, a sighing to echo his thoughts. He didn't care. He was dry and under cover.

Why keep going anymore? He knew what was going to happen in the future. He was only going to grow more depressed as his own failure to do anything faced him every day in the mirror. It was already hard enough just to get up each day. The last week and more had been hell, for he hadn't had anything to get up for. He had lain there, ill and in bed, and thought of nothing except how much he dreaded being well and still feeling the exact same way every morning.

There really wasn't a point anymore in continuing to do this.

Maybe his thoughts in Ryuzaki and Watari's hotel room hadn't been so foolish. Perhaps he had merely been clear-headed enough to see it then. Without the humdrum of his daily life to dull his senses to hammer-sharpness, he had seen a solution. The two men had made him forget almost immediately, since their unprecedented intrusion in his life, as well as his fever, caused him to focus on that. After they were gone, however, the distractions were gone, and his misery returned tenfold. Only now had the solution returned to him.

So why was he upset? Maybe because he was sorry it had taken so long to realize it. Maybe because he just realized he was so damn _tired_ and ready for it all to be over with. All of the forcing himself to stay awake when he'd rather be sleeping, all of the fake smiles when he'd rather throttle the person for their idiocy, all of the witty comments that he had to dumb down just to make them comprehensible to his peers, all of the polite thank-yous for information he had learned years ago... all of it.

He absently wiped a hand down his face to remove the tears, but they continued to slip out every now and then, so he stopped paying attention to them.

He wasn't upset anymore. He felt quiet. Inevitably, his mind started trying to put what he had decided into words. Out of curiosity, perhaps, he found himself staring, his vision completely out of focus, off into the slight drizzle that was more mist than anything else. His mouth formed the words that his lungs gave no breath to.

"I want to die."

He felt nothing. No shock, ho horror, no self-mockery. Instead he merely felt calm.

That was it, then. He had made his decision.


	7. Monologues

L stood in front of the glass display case at the cafe, contemplating which desserts needed to come home and filtering out which ones would not last on the trip back. Anything that needed to be refrigerated was out; that eliminated mousse, gelato, ice cream, cheesecake... He sighed. There were so many lovely choices, but because he was on foot, at least until he called Wammy to pick him up, he couldn't chose as freely as he wanted.

He finally settled on a baker's dozen of various cookies, for these would be the least messy to eat. Chunky chocolate chip, peanut butter cup, white chocolate with macadamia nuts, shortbread with jam in the center, snicker-doodles, and heavily frosted sugar cookies were sure to improve his mood, which was disappointed due to his run-in with Light.

This project was starting to become a lot of trouble for him. He had hoped to find that Light was as promising as his records had shown since he fit the profile that L was starting to create in his head, but this pesky depression problem and now the suicide issue? If L didn't have too much pride to admit that his intuition might have been incorrect, he would have washed his hands of this boy, suicidal or not. He didn't _personally_ care about him, after all. Only Wammy would genuinely care about his suicidal tendencies, and that was if L chose to share those particular thoughts.

Light had gone into the park as L suspected he would. The boy was probably looking to stay out of sight until he was sober enough to fool his parents. L was sure he would never allow anyone else to see him in this state if he could help it. It gave him a bit of sadistic glee to contemplate denying him even this small pleasure.

Despite a near-certain knowledge of Light's current mindset, however, he chose not to worry about Light actually committing suicide before he could get to him. Light was not hasty enough to rush into the decision; if anything, he would probably spend too much time just thinking about it. That was another thing to consider: thus far he had been fairly predictable as far as depressed geniuses went, but L was hoping that would not be the case in the future. He planned to push Light so far out of his comfort zone that he didn't even recognize himself anymore. He had been hoping for a bit of a challenge, after all. Goodness knows he hadn't found that much elsewhere. His case history could attest to that.

That thought surprised him as much as the great detective L _could_ be surprised. Why had he not seen it before? These problems of Light's were only going to make it more difficult to turn him into what L wanted. The boy had pride and perhaps a bit of obstinacy as well. L saw some of his own traits reflected in him. He wasn't going to cow to L's wishes; if anything, that pride he had would make him resistant, a much more difficult piece of clay to sculpt. A contest of whose will was stronger.

 _Light-kun, you may prove useful after all. I'll make you into what I want, as long as you have the intellectual and deductive capabilities I require._ It was a challenge to himself.

He noticed that the girl taking his order was less exuberant compared to her greeting of other customers. L noted the hesitancy, likely due to his disheveled appearance, and shrugged it off just as quickly. Whatever these people thought of his outward appearance was beneath his contemplation. They didn't matter to him. L only attributed true worth to those useful to him, other than Wammy, of course.

He picked up his cookies and ordered a coffee with six sugars and plenty of cream as well, for he could never buy dessert and not have coffee or at least tea with it. Some things were better suited to coffee, others to tea, and of course, varying levels of sugar were required depending on the time of day. Smiling inwardly as he readied himself to pay, he decided a slight alteration to his plans might be in order due to his recent musings.

Maybe he should order another coffee.

* * *

Light put his chin in one palm as he continued to stare, eyes half-lidded, into the drizzle, which caused everything from blades of grass to the occasional tiny flower to sparkle. It was always raining, wasn't it? Every time he left the house, it rained. It seldom helped to improve his mood. Where was the sun? He had not seen it in weeks, not since he woke in Ryuzaki's hotel room.

The gears in his head were slow to turn, but they eventually started as he pursued the train of thought he'd begun.

_How does one go about deciding to die?_

His usual cognitive brilliance was lost to him due to his intoxicated state, but that didn't stop him from trying to ponder it anyway. It might even have encouraged him. His mood suited it, and his weariness begged him to cement everything in his mind so he could finally sleep and not dread waking up. It was like casting a fishing lure; he cast blindly, waiting for the first thought to surface since he didn't really know how to go about ... thinking about killing himself. It sounded so terrible to call it that, though.

The most obvious questions came up first: where and how? More importantly, when? It didn't have to be right away, he knew that much. He could take his time deciding; it was enough of a relief to know that he wasn't going to wake every day until he was eighty and face the dreary world.

_Where am I going to do it? At home?_

He frowned slightly at the thought of his mother finding him. It would probably traumatize her to find her perfect son dead by his own hand. As much as it bothered him to admit it, though, he didn't love her enough to stay alive just for her sake. He felt guilty. After all, what kind of son doesn't care enough to want to spare his own mother the sight of his corpse?

His corpse... Now there was an odd thought. He viewed it with detached interest. They were ultimately just words, and he felt no emotional connection to the word "corpse." He wouldn't have to see it, anyway. It... it wouldn't even be _him_ anymore.

This would take some thought, he decided. He didn't want to leave something so _vulgar_ as a disgusting mess for his family to clean up. He wanted the last memories of him to be attractive. His actual death should be a mere occurrence, not a memory stained with horror that eclipsed happier times with him.

He blinked slowly, the water falling a few feet in front of him sparkling like glitter in the air. There were many things to ponder. His eyes rolled up and to the left, his gaze unfocused as his thoughts retreated inward.

_If I don't want Mother to find me dead, do I want to ... do it somewhere else?_

Something in him was reluctant to use the word "suicide." Suicide was never something he would have associated with himself. _Suicide_ was for goths, something daring and darkly dramatic for them to write terrible poetry about before they slit their wrists in the bathtub. _Suicide_ was good for movie stars or musicians. It provided a dramatic and shocking way out when their careers started to plummet and they lost the will to try anymore.

He was nothing like them. He _had_ tried. He had tried for the last seven or eight years to feel something other than apathy and boredom while still working to make something of his life. He hadn't succeeded, however, and he wasn't going to waste more time on it. It stung his pride a little to admit that, but what was a little pride compared to a lifetime of misery? He had made up his mind.

He wasn't "committing suicide." He was just going to die, go quietly into nothingness. He sank back into his musings after the brief mental battle with his pride.

_Do I want to die somewhere in public? Do I want to be found by a total stranger?_

That thought didn't sit well with him.

_Do I want to leave a note telling my family where I am?_

That might work. At least his family wouldn't remember it for years every time they passed his room or the bathroom, wherever he might have chosen to do it.

_Or do I..._

_... not want to be found?_

His eyes closed slightly of their own accord. He glanced at the ground, disturbed by a melancholy that he couldn't justify. He tried to keep thinking, not wanting a sadness likely due to the depressants running through his system to distract him.

_What if I just leave a note telling them of my decision? I don't have to leave anything behind then, just the portrait of myself._

_Maybe I should determine how to go through with it, then I can figure out the best place._

That was a slightly better course of action. Coming up with a list and checking off possibilities. His gaze narrowed on the opening in the gate, giving him something to focus on, his expression growing determined.

_Slitting my wrists... no, it's too womanly. It's unnecessarily dramatic, even if it is easy and supposedly peaceful._

_Guns are almost impossible to find, so shootings aren't an option._

Despite the certain finality of that method, Light worried that holding one would make him lose his nerve as well. Something about guns were too threatening, and the mess it would leave behind was disturbing. An image of himself lying on the floor, his mouth hanging open with brains and blood splattered all over his bedspread behind him made him shudder with revulsion. It was an ugly picture. Even if he didn't do that at home, the thought of that being the body he left for the world to take care of bothered him. He didn't care about his appearance for nothing.

_Drowning? That's possible with the rivers here, and there won't be anything left behind. I've heard you start to feel really warm after your lungs fill with water._

He couldn't feel completely passive about that one either, though. Getting to the drowning part might be frightening, though why he cared about things like that now was beyond his ability to reason. It must be the alcohol. If he really cared about pain or fear, he wouldn't have chosen this course of action. He continued musing, tapping his first two fingers on the edge of his jaw below his ear.

 _Hanging... ugh. That sounds terrible and drawn out, and the corpse wouldn't be pretty. Jumping isn't much better. I mean, what if the drop is not far enough? What if I_ live?

Light's expression warped with horror as he contemplated tumbling headfirst from the bridge he'd been on the other day. The drop was only about twenty or twenty-five feet, and while humans could certainly die from that kind of a fall, what if he survived? People had recovered from incredible falls before; he had seen them on TV every now and then. What if he was forced to spend the rest of his days in a coma, or in a wheelchair, paralyzed, with a death wish he couldn't fulfill? He would be stuck in a living hell until the end of his life. He shivered, feeling suddenly cold. He would have to make sure it was a very tall building if he did do that.

Unfortunately, that would leave an even bigger mess than shooting himself. It would also be very public, and it would certainly make the papers if it came on the heels of his recent graduation announcement for breaking Tokyo University's record scores. Light didn't mind notoriety while he was alive, but having something that gruesome published about him after death would undo all of his life's achievements, such as they were. It would eventually be all people remembered about him.

Poisoning would be difficult since he didn't know the first thing about procuring them, even if drinking the Drano under the bathroom sink was an easy route to take. Where would he find something that would assuredly be potent enough to kill him and not cause unnecessary misery? He didn't want to suffer, just to die quietly.

_So what do I ultimately want? I want it to be relatively fast, mostly painless if possible, and private. And I don't want to make a mess for my family, so it either needs to be clean or somewhere that no one will find the body._

It occurred to him that he ought to be more disturbed by thinking of himself as "the body," but he shrugged it off. The alcohol was making that much easy at least. It was more difficult to keep his thoughts focused rather than brushing things off.

 _Overdose._ Now there was something that might work. He had heard of attempts to overdose on painkillers, but he knew that using Tylenol to do so would only earn him a stomach pumping and therapy. He would have to look up what types of over-the-counter medications might work. What about sleeping pills?

Light stilled. Sleeping to death…

He breathed out, a light approaching bliss blossoming in his eyes like stars even as the rest of his face remained impassive.

That sounded lovely.

Sleeping to death sounded perfect. Too good to be true, almost, but he knew it was a viable option. After all, he had seen reports of it in his father's casework and heard it on the news in some celebrities' cases.

His eyes slipped in and out of focus as he gave his mind free rein to wander now, contemplating exactly what that might feel like and how he could make it happen. Inexplicable relief flowed through him, as though a weight had lifted off his shoulders. He felt better physically than he had in weeks, even taking his illness and his own intoxication into consideration. He was at peace, which was as alien a feeling as happiness these days.

He felt _satisfied_ with his decision...

...until something came along to shatter his dubious peace.

He was growing to expect it, or maybe he was still too drunk to be surprised by anything, so his eyes failed to register the change in his surroundings until it was too late. The park was no longer completely empty.

A shape coalesced out of the misty darkness before him, the barely-falling rain creating a glittering nimbus around features thrown into shadow by the street lights behind it. The silhouette approached on silent cat-feet, the only sound an occasional crackle of a plastic bag.

Light didn't react as it grew closer, neither looking at it or speaking. When it stopped only a few feet to his right side, he knew exactly what it was anyway, even before the features grew clearer in his peripheral vision. Dark hair that spangled with moisture, pale skin, a scarf that covered the other's mouth, gray or black jacket over loose blue jeans and what might be white sneakers, but were hardly visible. Something in both hands and a bag dangling from one elbow.

It seemed as though he waited an eternity in placid contemplation of the far side of the playground, the other figure silent and unmoving as a statue, before finally rousing himself to speak. He put his hand down, still hunched over with his elbows on his knees. His eyes didn't even seek out the other's, merely staring off into the distance as he spoke.

"Hello again, Ryuzaki-san."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, but I didn't want to tack it onto the next one since it seemed more a continuation of last chapter. 
> 
> First "Monologues", then "Dialogue"! Finally! Conversation!


	8. Dialogue

Light looked different compared to earlier. His face was blank except for a light in his eyes that L didn't trust, and his posture was relaxed and uncaring despite his earlier extreme resistance to being seen, especially by L compared to the other nameless passersby. He must have made up his mind after all. L had thought it might take longer, but he still wasn't worried. Deciding to and actually carrying something like that out were two different things.

"Hello, Light-kun, and it's just Ryuzaki."

Light continued to stare at nothing, but there was a noise in his throat like a snigger, an unexpectedly rude sound despite the continued impassivity of his visage.

"And you can just keep calling me Light-kun. I don't care anymore."

His voice was much clearer now that he could actually speak, despite the fact that he was enunciating slightly to keep from slurring his words. L hadn't had much time to notice while they were in the crosswalk, but Light's voice was low and silken. It suited the vain boy perfectly.

"Have some coffee then, Light-kun. It's still hot," L said.

That got Light to look at him, his expression bewildered. He took it, looking quite unsure what was going on and eyeing the drink as though L had handed him a dead animal.

"Thank you?" Light's voice was so uncertain that L almost laughed. "And here I thought you were coming to mock me again."

Light took a tentative sip of the coffee, his brows furrowed, and then he glanced quickly over at L, his eyes going out of focus with the movement.

"Who are you, anyway? My guardian angel? My _conscience_? How are you always around?" Light asked.

L was not bothered by the sharp tone of his voice, taking it in stride as the confused reaction of someone much more intoxicated than he thought he was. He chose to make one of his most disarmingly innocent (and admittedly disgustingly cute) smiles in reply to Light's ramblings, and he felt a little thrill at the horror that crossed Light's face before his expression returned to one of confusion.

"I have never been mistaken for someone's conscience before. Does Light-kun take cream or sugar in his coffee?" L pulled several packets of sugar and creamers out of the bag with his cookies and fanned them out before the other's face.

Light's eyes remained fixed on him, his expression wary as he nodded.

"Cream, please. Just one."

L handed it to him, and while Light tried to open the top of his coffee, he climbed up onto the bench a few feet to the right of Light and assumed his customary seated position on top of the table. Light's expression was priceless as he glanced at the man seated on the same level as his head.

"You realize, Ryuzaki-s-... _Ryuzaki_ , that you are behaving even more like some angel seated on my shoulder? Maybe a devil in your case, though."

"I think you will find the memory of this conversation quite humorous in the morning, Light-kun," L deadpanned, his eyebrows lifting slightly and the corners of his mouth turning up. How much _had_ Light had to drink anyway?

"I'm finding it humorous right now, but I still can't _shut up_." That did make L laugh as he opened his box of cookies. "No, really, I can hear what I'm saying, but the whole time I'm thinking... _that's not me_." Light's face was genuinely perplexed, as though he had found himself speaking Chinese or Swahili instead of Japanese.

It seemed the alcohol made him talk a lot more. L looked closer at the unguarded face, taking note of what looked like tears, and decided Light was a talkative, _weepy_ drunk. He would have to make sure Light stayed away from alcohol if he was going to be working with him in a professional sense in the future. It made L lose a little more respect for him, and emotional displays always unnerved him unless it was for interrogation purposes. He didn't think Light would ever touch it again, though, for surely this genius could see what it was doing to him.

However, it _was_ vastly amusing to see Light so open, so unguarded compared to the haughty young man he had taken the elevator with. They were like two different people. He briefly wondered how much of each personality was an act.

L decided to go ahead and ask the question.

"How much _have_ you had tonight, Light-kun? I never took you for a drinker." As much as he'd rather speak to a sober Light with all of his mental faculties at his disposal, the unguarded honesty he seemed to be receiving was useful as well. "Haughty" Light would probably clam up and refuse to speak to him.

"I'm not a _drinker_ ," Light treated the word like dirt, spitting it out as though he didn't want to say it, his expression suddenly mortified. "I don't even know what I was doing. I barely know what I'm _saying_ right now." He looked off into space again and counted off on his fingers. "One rum and Coke, an Irish coffee and two or four shots of something or another..." His words started slurring together as he tried to recall.

"I don't remember." Light concluded, a serious expression settling over his features again. "I'm such an idiot."

The self-deprecating comment sounded wrong coming from him. L had known the conversation would be strange given the circumstances, but he hadn't expected to deal with the boy's actual emotions. Light was like an open book right now, his unfiltered thoughts coming right out of his mouth.

However uncomfortable they both might be, the substance of this conversation ultimately didn't matter. L would talk to him again at a better time. For now, he was establishing himself as a presence in Light's life while he was unguarded. Light should be more open to him being there while sober when he met him again. "Should be" were the key words, for there was no telling what kind of mental barriers he could throw up if he had all of his composure. He was aloof and downright unapproachable in the elevator. Well, unapproachable to anyone except L, who had seen this boy at his worst several times already that day and certainly had a knack for getting under his skin.

"You're not an idiot, Light-kun. Although you should know better than to make important decisions when you're drunk."

Light gave him a sidelong glance, the eyebrow facing him arching, his earlier silliness burning away like fog in the sun.

"What are you talking about." It wasn't phrased as a question, more an accusation. His voice was suddenly cold, his tone harsh. L's guess was right, of course; Light's reaction gave it away immediately.

"I think you know."

Light rolled his eyes, inadvertently breaking the tension. "How do you do that?"

"Easy. I read minds," L deadpanned.

Light laughed shortly and humorlessly.

"You heard me in the hotel, then."

L just continued to meet his eyes in reply before Light looked away.

"Yes, and it's easy to see the signs if you know what to look for," L said.

"It's not any of your business."

There was what L had been waiting for, the spark of pride, of wounded dignity. It made Light seem like less of a drunk than a very confused young man.

"Wrong, Light-kun." L held his cup from the top with two fingers, swirling his coffee to get the sugar to mix into the brew before taking a sip. He stared into his box of cookies while speaking. "You made it my business when you fainted on my friend and me and then made that little confession in the hotel."

Light didn't look at him, staring instead into his own coffee before drinking it mechanically.

"Why...do...you... _care_?" Every word was enunciated clearly, and Light tensed more with each word. To his credit, he didn't raise his voice, merely using the force of his tone to convey his irritation.

"I respect your father, Light-kun, too much to let his son die on him, especially if said son could prove to be useful to the NPA," L said.

That wasn't completely the truth, but L didn't want to tell the boy everything now anyway. It also wouldn't do to tell him that he had so much potential or that his life wasn't that bad and he should just get over it. Those were horrible things to tell someone that was depressed, at least according to the books. L knew a partial truth would do better as well as the implication that Light had purpose.

"Your reasoning strikes me as hollow, considering how little you know about me." Light was choosing his words carefully, reluctant to let his intoxication color his speech. He was growing angry, probably due to what he perceived as L's invasion of his personal life.

"Perhaps I know more than you realize," L replied.

He picked up a blue frosted sugar cookie and nudged Light with the corner of the box. Light looked at the treats being offered to him, turned a little green, and shook his head.

"How do you know so much about me, anyway?" Light's voice was curious, not sad and not offended at L's earlier chastisement.

L's attempt to diffuse the tension he created had worked beautifully. Light seemed to be vacillating between a more relaxed and intoxicated behavior pattern as well as an underlying serious and prideful manner. It was interesting to see which one he spoke to since they flipped back and forth without warning.

"Research. I hear some of what your father tells his coworkers. I also spoke to your mother and sister while you were ill," L said.

Light made that rude " _Tch!_ " again, taking off his cap and running his fingers through his disheveled hair.

"Do you have _any_ concept of personal space?"

"No."

Light glanced over at his blunt answer, a faint smirk of amusement on his face and his hair half-covering his eyes.

"I'm sure I'd be angrier if I was in my right mind." Light turned his head away, staring again into the dark while leaning back against the table's edge instead of slouching forward. He put his elbows on the table, still holding the coffee in one hand and his cap in the other while crossing his legs.

L took note of this as likely being his relaxed pose, wondering at the same time if something had changed in his mind.

"I am glad I caught you now, in that case, but I do plan to continue this conversation with you later when you're sober." L waited to see Light's reaction.

Light shrugged, distressingly flippant now. "Do what you will. I'm sure you know where I live."

It wasn't an invitation, not that L truly cared about getting one for he was going to do whatever he wanted regardless, but at least it wasn't a demand for L to go to hell either.

"I'd rather meet elsewhere. Your home is too personal, and I'd like to discuss business."

"Your hotel, then?" Light hadn't reacted to the mention of business, nor did he seem inclined to ask about L's intentions. It was more careless than L wanted him to be; it spoke of him being too attached to the idea of dying, too ready to stop caring about anything.

"Yes. It's a different one, though. I can arrange to pick you up beforehand rather than asking you to meet me there, since it is _my_ request that you come and not the other way around," L said.

"Sure, whatever." Light breathed.

L waited, gauging his behavior.

"Light-kun." He waited until the other boy looked at him, his eyes dead and uncaring. The light had gone out of them. "Don't you want to know why?"

The chocolate eyes went out of focus before Light looked away, his expression unreadable.

"I do, Ryuzaki," he responded, his head turning slightly in L's direction. "But I can't figure out why and I have never had to ask for clarification from anyone in my life." He was enunciating again while trying to use longer words that he might slur otherwise.

"People have always been transparent and shallow to me; I've never had to ask them what they were thinking, but I can't figure _you_ out. Why you're paying attention to me when you always catch me at my worst. Why you say you want to talk business when I know nothing about you. Why you care whether I die or not. You make no sense to me, Ryuzaki." He laughed mirthlessly, his attitude changing to one of forced humor. "Plus I'm drunk. That isn't helping. You should stop talking to me since I can't think straight." He turned away again and drank his coffee.

His voice, when it came again, was more subdued. "I'll meet you later, and then you can talk sense to me. I can't handle it right now."

Light was embarrassed. He had tried to hide it under a pretense of relaxation and flippancy, but his inebriation kept him from keeping quiet about it. He would never have admitted it if he hadn't lacked his usual self control.

His questions made L contemplate his answers. L was trying to find out about Light because he seemed likely to be of use to him. It was mostly pride in his own intuition; he had gotten the right feeling from the boy from the start despite Light's uncharacteristic behavior. He _did_ care whether or not Light died because he didn't want even this much work to go to waste. The scheme had become important to him if not the person.

Finally, there was his challenge to himself, that he would _force_ Light to be useful whether he wanted it or not.

He didn't think Light would want to hear any of that, though, so he had at least a day to think of more innocuous reasons.

"When is a good day to meet with you?" L asked.

L was equally busy every day of the week; it was what he was busy with that made the difference. Additionally, if he was unavailable on a certain day, it was his own business. L was accountable to no one but himself, and the world grudgingly dealt with it in exchange for his expertise.

"Tomorrow evening is fine." Light sounded tired now, as though he had just fought and lost a battle.

"Tomorrow evening, then. I'll send someone to pick you up. Will that be all right?"

"Yes. Thank you for the coffee. I was ungracious earlier."

"It's all right, Light-kun."

They sat there in a more comfortable silence for a while, the conversation settled and plans in place for the next meeting. L finished his cookie and debated whether or not to have another. Light still sat in his relaxed position, looking away from L and drinking his coffee. The rain gradually stopped falling at all, even though earlier it had barely made his hair wet. A cricket or two chirped from bushes placed strategically under the few trees in the park. The cars passing by were muted by the walls, and the streets were growing emptier. Neither of them made a move to escape the other, simply absorbing the quiet and examining their own thoughts.

The air was still when L spoke, reluctant to disturb the tranquility and speaking softly.

"Will you be heading home now, Light-kun? It is nearly midnight."

Light shook his hair back from his eyes, seeming to come out of his reverie.

"I suppose so. No sense in repeating last week's entertaining spectacle."

L liked the sarcasm. It was better than listening to a beaten-down sounding genius with a death wish.

"I am calling my driver. Would you like a ride home?" L said, thinking it was only polite to ask as he stepped gracefully off the table and gathered his empty cup and box of cookies.

"I'll be all right," Light replied, meeting L's eyes again.

Light's gaze focused on him now rather than merely being pointed in his direction. Light was sobering up, at last. He eased off the bench, unsure as to whether or not he would fall over and wincing as he curled one hand around the hip he had fallen on.

"I'll take the train. You will call before you send the car tomorrow, since I'm assuming you have my number as well?" Light asked, and L nodded. "Good night, Ryuzaki."

"Good night, Light-kun. Be safe."

L didn't know why he felt compelled to add that. He doubted that Light would take any action before seeing him again. Light did not strike him as the type to take promises lightly.

"Ryuzaki?" he half-turned back after taking only a few steps, putting more weight on his right side. "Please don't tell my father about tonight."

"You have my word that I will not."

Light nodded and turned again, finishing off the rest of his drink and dropping it in the garbage. L pulled out his phone and called Wammy, his eyes trained on Light until he left the park before walking after him. He didn't want Light to think he was following him, after all. It was a sure way to break the unsteady trust he had created with him.

L would be the first to admit that he possessed no real social skills, but he did understand the basic workings of the human mind. Light was wavering between a life he was unhappy with and a death he had apparently already decided upon. It would not do to push him right now, however much he might want to.

He would have to wait until Light was healthy again to do that. He smiled slightly with anticipation as he gave Wammy directions to the park.

* * *

Light woke the next mid-morning still wearing everything he had worn the day before, minus only his shoes. He was sweating in the coat, but as he rolled over to peel it off, he froze. There was something very wrong with his head.

It felt like his skull was made of glass and his brain composed of ball bearings. If he moved, they jangled against each other and collided with the inside of his skull, causing an inordinate amount of pain and ringing noise. He grew worried that if he moved too quickly, his head would shatter like a dropped vase.

Nausea crawled up his spine, and Light fortunately had the sense to sit up slowly and crawl off his bed toward his door. He had to move faster, but he couldn't or his skull would break apart. There was no one in the hallway as he stumbled across the small empty space that yawned like a theater stage. He had the irrational fear that his whole family could see him and knew what he had done even though he had only seen his mother when he came home. He had waved to her and said he was tired before heading straight to bed.

At least he thought that was all he'd done. The memory was a little fuzzy.

Having finally reached the bathroom, he suffered the indignity of having to hug the toilet and throw up _again_. He thought last night would be enough, but it seemed he had to endure this cliché aftereffect of drunkenness as well. It was mortifying even if no one else knew. The steel balls in his skull rang against each other and pealed like church bells as he rested his forehead on the bathroom tiles. Even the floor was vibrating from the noise.

He was never, _ever_ drinking again.

Which shouldn't be too hard, since he wasn't going to live much longer anyway.

Light sighed in relief as the clanging started to die down. What a nightmare. What a complete and total nightmare the day before had been, from start to finish. From waking still sick in his bed at an indeterminate hour to reading utter drivel online until he was nearly bored to tears to getting carried away while drinking for the first time to playing the piano drunk to stumbling down the streets of Tokyo and wishing he was invisible to... to...

...oh...

...merciful...

...gods.

_Ryuzaki._

He had run into _Ryuzaki._

Physically run into him and fallen down like a child. Then not only had the man followed him, but he bought him coffee and said something about wanting to meet him about business?! He talked to him _while_ Light was drunk and made a complete fool of himself?

Ryuzaki had said that Light would find his words humorous later. Humorous was _not_ the right word.

Light felt entirely justified in getting sick again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last bit was written in about 10 minutes and left unedited, but I like the way it turned out. Sensory information is so much easier than dialogue. I had those headaches all throughout high school (not from drinking!), except it was more like broken glass sliding around in my head. Now I have fun memories now that they're gone as well as descriptive adjectives. Who says you can't take inspiration from just about anything?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the first ever conversation! A less drunken one on Light's part is forthcoming.


	9. Guilt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack - I used the song "Tera Hi Karam" from the Bollywood movie Karam on repeat. Ignore the video or it will distract you completely from the story, haha.

There was a whole crew of tiny men inside Light's head, hammering away at the inside of his skull with minuscule pickaxes. The noise was only slightly less miserable than the ball bearings had been. He tried to step lightly so as not to disturb them as he made his way down the stairs after taking the longest shower of his life.

His mother was in the middle of cleaning the living room, one of her usual Saturday activities. She looked up at Light as he came into view, and he paused, wondering what she wanted to say. She had "The Look" on her face. He hoped it had nothing to do with...

"Were you all right last night?"

 _Damn._ So much for hoping that she hadn't noticed anything.

"What do you mean?" He made sure his face was completely blank except for mild puzzlement.

"You sounded a little odd when you came in. Are you feeling sick still?"

"A little. My head hurts, but the cough is gone. I just had to get out of the house for a little while last night." She smiled, and Light felt reassured. She was just being motherly.

"I know, you've been sick so long. Just be careful until you're feeling fine again, all right?"

"Yes, mother. Is there still coffee in the kitchen?"

She nodded, and he ended the conversation and headed out of sight into the kitchen, feeling inexplicably relieved yet guilty. After all, what right did he have to feel relieved about her not noticing if anything was wrong? He was going to be dead relatively soon, and any easing of her conscience that he did now was not going to matter when he was gone. Remorse was barely a tickle at his conscience, though. His mind was still made up, and his pride would not allow him to go back on his word to himself.

Speaking of going back on his word... Light sighed as he poured himself a cup of coffee, deciding to take it black this morning. He had told Ryuzaki he would meet him this evening. Why he had agreed to meet the odd man was beyond his comprehension.

Ryuzaki wanted, for some absurd reason, to discuss _business_ , as though Light was some salaryman looking for a new client. Why he wanted to discuss work with someone that he knew was determined to die was unexplainable. After all, Ryuzaki could not possibly offer Light reasons to keep living, to keep waking up and watching the world and his own life deteriorate into nothingness.

_I'm not going to change my mind about leaving this world behind._

It felt liberating to think that, that he was putting distance between himself and this wretched world.

Light took a sip of the near-scalding brew and leaned on the counter, debating whether or not he could stand to eat anything. He hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday, but he didn't trust his stomach yet. He was unwilling to repeat his vomiting sessions, especially if he knew his mother was home and might hear. He didn't want her to know anything about his drinking "accident."

However, it wasn't as though his mother would disown him if she found out he was ill or even that he had been drinking. She would be disappointed, of course. She wouldn't throw him out on the street, though. He _knew_ that, but something in him made him want to hide the sordid details anyway.

Briefly, it occurred to him to wonder how long he had hoped that his family saw nothing other than his carefully crafted "perfect son" image. He felt like he had always been hiding things, pieces of himself that wouldn't fit with the "perfect" image. He was seldom honest with them about how he felt or what he was thinking about, for they wouldn't have been able to help, despite their good intentions. There simply _was_ no helping him. It was better if they thought he was perfect, faultless. He didn't need to complicate their lives unnecessarily.

Had he ever once asked for help, even indirectly? He had never voiced his concerns to his family, not once. Years of keeping his intelligence to himself in school and finding no outlet for it at home had eventually turned into keeping everything bottled inside. Light never asked for help in school, and his pride eventually kept him from asking for it at home, or for anything at all. If there was no food, he cooked it. If he was bored, he amused himself. If his room was dirty, he cleaned it. He learned to count on only himself for everything.

That was why leaving this world was appealing. He had failed to come up with reasons to stay alive. Light asked for nothing from other people, and he was not about to start now.

If he couldn't save himself, no one would.

* * *

It was a very conflicted Light that looked at himself in the mirror in his room hours later, cell phone in hand. It was six o'clock, and Ryuzaki's friend and apparent driver, Watari, had just called to say he would be there to pick him up at seven. He had a whole hour to do... something. He had no idea what he was doing or what he was going to do tonight. After all, Ryuzaki had seen him inebriated, ill, fainting, clumsy, angry... had the man seen _any_ good parts of Light at all? Why in the world did he want to meet him, anyway?!

Light had not gotten the impression Ryuzaki was hitting on him, albeit indirectly. That would have been the easiest answer as to why he wanted to see him. Ryuzaki had not once said what he did for a living or what capacity he was looking for Light to fill. However, Light had also been drunk, and he might have forgotten that part of the conversation, though he thought he could remember everything that had been said. There weren't any gaping holes in his memory, at least.

Cursing his idiocy the night before for the thousandth time, he resigned himself to having to figure it out over the course of the evening. It was bound to be awkward and ultimately pointless. He was only going through with it because he had said he would, and he didn't break his word.

He decided to simply act as though this was a job interview. He had only interviewed once, and that was for the NPA. He had known he would get in and had applied nowhere else. He pulled out several of his suits before settling on a two-piece dark blue pinstripe with a white shirt underneath. It wasn't black, which would give the meeting an unusually solemn air, nor was it a gray tweed that would make him look like he was simply showing up for work. This suit was classy and refined but not overly dressed up. A steel gray tie and black shoes completed the look.

His hair looked fine as it almost always did, except for this morning when he had woken up. He had seen the crimson cheeks in an uncommonly milk-white complexion in the mirror, the bloodshot and bruised-looking eyes, the colorless mouth, and the sweaty hair plastered to his head and standing up in other places and wondered who in the world was looking back at him. It had looked like someone else: a young, homeless, drunk ragmuffin.

He shuddered and shook off that memory.

Getting dressed and cleaned up only took until 6:30, so he had thirty minutes to wait around. He turned to his desk, intending to read something until Watari showed up, but a knock sounded at his door.

"Light, it's your father. Can I speak with you?"

Light opened the door, his face asking what his father's reasons were even if he didn't voice the question. His father looked his choice of clothing up and down.

"Are you going somewhere?" Soichiro asked.

"I'm meeting someone," Light said.

His father waited, wanting to hear more. This time, Light humored him, choosing to be honest and not vague like he would normally be. He actually was meeting someone this time, not lying about it to make it seem like he had a social life.

"Ryuzaki wanted to talk to me about something. He was the man whom you met at the Four Seasons when you picked me up." Light avoided referring to himself being ill or otherwise incapacitated.

"After you were out all night? The skinny young man with dark hair?" Light nodded. "What are you meeting up for?"

What was this, an interrogation? Normally Light would stop answering directly out of habit and bend the conversation around to something else, but with his newfound lack of concern for his future, he thought nothing of giving the extra information.

"He wants to talk about work or something. He wasn't specific," Light answered.

Soichiro nodded, seemingly to himself. "You just seem really dressed up to meet with a friend and not a girlfriend." His father smiled a little, but it looked forced. "Could I talk to you outside? Do you have a few minutes?"

Light nodded again, wondering what was going on. If he had to guess, he would think it had something to do with him going out while sick. As they headed to the back door through the kitchen, he saw his mother and his sister watching television in the living room, but neither of them looked at them as they passed by. That was unusual, and he grew uneasy. He followed his father out the back door into their tiny, fenced-in backyard. The sun was just starting to settle on the horizon, painting the sky that he could see vivid shades of red and pink that faded to blue.

His father was dressed like he had been in the office again that day. He almost always worked six days a week despite the fact that he had Saturday as well as Sunday off. He put his hands in his pockets as he drew a breath, and Light immediately knew that he was nervous and reluctant to have this conversation.

"Light, I don't want to make you upset, or put you on your guard, but your mother and I are worried about you."

Light felt his face forming into that perfect, complacent look that he usually wore when he was trying to appear neither concerned nor distant, merely considerate. It happened automatically around his family.

"I won't lie. I never wanted to have this conversation, but your mother said that you..." His father looked away as he paused, and Light's stomach twisted as he guessed what was coming.

"Your mother said that you were intoxicated when you came home last night. She didn't say that you were drunk, just that you smelled and acted as though you had been drinking, and Light, I have no reason to doubt what she says."

Light kept his face impassive, but he felt so awkward right now. He couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't a lie.

"Truthfully, we've noticed a lot of things going on lately that don't make sense. We don't know why you left home after your graduation without taking anything and not telling either of us you were staying out all night."

"Father, that was an acc-" Light started.

"We know it's not your fault that you didn't come home," his father interrupted, holding up a hand for silence. "You got sick, but neither of us asked any questions when maybe we should have. Now you've gone out drinking when you have been sick for weeks, and it frightens us. This isn't like you. You've never done anything like this before."

His father looked down, and for a moment, he looked so dejected and confused that Light almost felt conflicted for deciding to die. Soichiro sighed before continuing, for Light could still think of nothing worth saying.

"You're an adult, Light. Don't think that your mother and I are trying to treat you like a child, but we are concerned.

"You've never been anything but a good son, always well-behaved and always working so hard to make us proud of you. You've never given us cause to worry about you before now. I'm not going to ask about your reasons, but I want to know that you're all right." He looked into Light's face, and the deep brown eyes that Light had inherited transfixed his own with unusual authority.

"I want to know that you're okay," he repeated.

Light swallowed. He could honestly say that this was the most emotional he had ever felt when dealing with anyone in his family. It was also the first time his father had directly asked about his mental state. He had never done this before, and Light would never simply offer the information.

It wouldn't be asking for help. He would simply be answering a question.

_No, I'm not all right!_

_Things are not okay, and I have no more reason to live!_

The words were like glue, stuck in his throat as if cemented there. He couldn't swallow them even as he tried, for they stayed lodged there, waiting for the signal to escape. If he wanted saving, now was the time to say it. Maybe his father could help, if only...

The thought trailed off and died, like a meteor burning up in the faraway heavens.

_If only..._

He loved his father, he truly did, but his father was... _his father_. He was a workaholic and too distant to be a friend, to be someone Light confided in. He was Light's hero, not his companion. That saddened Light, but the foundation of their relationship had been built too long ago, too set in stone to fix now.

His mother was his caretaker. She kept the house in order and ensured that Light had what he needed to survive; food, shelter, and clothing. She encouraged Light to do well in his studies.

He was more a tutor to Sayu than anything else. She was sweet and Light had high hopes for her as far as getting into a decent university, but she was no one Light could relate to.

He loved his family more than anyone else in the world, but he couldn't confide in them. He was not emotionally close to them. They might have been roommates living together for as long as he could remember. He couldn't ask them for help now. He had relied on himself for too long to admit that maybe he needed a copilot or an advisor.

It might break his father's heart to know he was lying right now, but he made his mask smile, just a little bit, as he spoke.

"I'm all right, Dad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no L in this short chapter! Blame the fact that this has been stewing in my head while I was unable to write, so I changed my timeline a little. 
> 
> Next chapter will have L, I promise!


	10. Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the aptly named non-intoxicated "conversation", complete with L! Enjoy!

Light kept the tiny smile on his face long enough for his father to look away then let it fade away to be replaced with the complacent look again. He could keep up this act for long enough for Watari to show up, surely. His skills had never failed him before.

"If you say you're all right, then I trust you, son." He glanced back, his eyes so full of emotion that Light had to look away. It was like looking into his father's soul. "You know you can tell your mother and I anything, whatever's bothering you, whatever you have questions about, anything at all. We want to know you're happy, even if you're not acting like yourself right now."

"I know that, Dad."

"Will you tell us at some point what this is all about?"

Light paused to give him the impression he was unsure as a self-assured young man should when being asked to confide in his father. However, he didn't want to make his father think he was hiding anything, so he answered.

"Yes, I'll tell you as soon as I know for sure. It's a strange time, this transition." He stayed vague to convey that he was unaccustomed to his new status as a graduate and a member of Japan's workforce. "I'm sure I'll be myself again after I start work."

"I hope so. I know you like to stay busy." His father smiled a little, but his eyes were still too hard for Light to look at. "Enjoy your time out tonight, and stay safe."

"I will," Light replied.

This was the second time in twenty-four hours he had been told to be safe. If he didn't know better, he would think his intentions were printed on a sign floating over his head. He hoped he wasn't being transparent about his decision, but he couldn't deny that he had started feeling better after starting to plan everything out.

"Don't worry, Dad. Things will work out," Light added.

It was the truth; things would work out for _him_ and only him. The rest of his family... well, they would get over it eventually. He didn't know if he was reassuring himself or his father with this lie, but he felt wrong for saying it so easily.

Light turned and went back inside, intending to wait in his room for Watari to show up, so he missed seeing his father's shoulders slump and his head fall toward his chest in defeat.

* * *

Light didn't want to make Watari wait for him or have to call him, so he was outside his front door at 6:50. He fiddled with his cell phone, deleting old calls and a few text messages from his sister. He was bored, and having an idle mind had always been a burden for him. It made it easier for the listlessness that characterized his depression to sneak up on him. While he didn't start crying or feel sad, he just grew tired and disinterested in whatever was going on around him. Knowing what it was didn't make it any easier to deal with, however.

Finally, a sleek black sedan, probably a Rolls Royce or a Mercedes, pulled up outside his house. Light blinked a few times. He hadn't imagined that Ryuzaki would be so wealthy, even if he did apparently have a driver and stay in hotels far more upscale than what Light had seen during family vacations. The man looked like a complete slob, so he couldn't have been too concerned about showing off his affluence. Light could respect him for that.

He turned over his reasons for agreeing to this meeting, which numbered exactly zero, in his head one more time before heading down the walkway toward the road. He could only conclude that his drunkenness had led to a total lapse in judgment last night. Light might be able to lie with ease when necessary and be completely regretful of his actions, but he did not break his word. Ever.

In fact, if Ryuzaki had been persistent, he probably could have gotten Light to promise not to kill himself. Light had been out of his mind for having agreed to postpone his plans to end it all, so what else could Ryuzaki have gotten him to say? Then Light would be faced with a worse crisis: live the rest of his life despising being alive, or break his word and die in shame? It was frightening how much control Ryuzaki could have had over him in that state if the man had realized it. That alone could convince Light never to touch alcohol again even if he hadn't turned into a clumsy idiot. He shook off his thoughts before he could grow frustrated with himself again.

_It doesn't matter. I'm going to see what he wants, and that will be the end of it._

Watari stepped out of the car and inclined his head in Light's direction before turning to open the car door. He was dressed in black from fedora to suit to shoes minus the white shirt, which made him look very much like a butler or a chauffeur. Light didn't know exactly how to behave toward this kind of subservience, so he bowed in turn when he stopped outside the car.

"Good evening, Yagami-kun." Watari's voice was now polite, instead of grandfatherly as it had been when Light was in his hotel room. There seemed to be a bit of a smile playing around his mouth, but it was very faint. "Ryuzaki wishes me to tell you that he is glad you are meeting with him and to enjoy the refreshments in the back. The drive should take about thirty minutes."

"Thank you very much, Watari-san."

Light took a seat in the back of the car and just reveled in it for a few minutes while trying not to look too amazed. The interior was beige velvet except for the extremely comfortable bench seat in back, which was a matching shade in leather. There was plenty of room for Light to stretch his legs, so he did exactly that. He had never been in a limousine, and he thought this would probably qualify as one. His eyes caught the Rolls Royce symbol emblazoned on the front of a black bar on the side of the vehicle. Curious if this was the refreshments Watari had spoken of, he swung it open to discover a miniature refrigerator as well as glasses in a side cupboard. The refrigerator contained fruit, pudding, small wheels of exotic cheese, cheesecake, nuts, water, soda, and even a bottle of white wine.

A brief thought that this was the kind of car he would have commissioned for himself if he was ridiculously wealthy flashed through his head. A dying man had no need of a vehicle, however, so he might as well enjoy it while it lasted. He decided to explore the rest even if it did make him look unaccustomed to such grandeur. It distracted him from his confusion about Ryuzaki.

A tinted glass window shut out the view of Watari, but there was a switch that he could use to lower it. A large sunroof window could be opened over his head, and a stereo with muted lights flashed in the console on the other side of the vehicle. A flat TV screen swung down in front of the window to the front. It even looked like there were trays that he could use if he was eating stowed in the sides of the car. Of course, there were also power outlets available.

Light felt like a poor man surrounded by that kind of luxury. He came from an upper middle class family and was no pauper, but Ryuzaki's muted but obvious wealth made him feel like a beggar. It could attest to him being either independently wealthy and secure in that knowledge or coming from a family with "old money." It was probably the former; something in him doubted a rich family would let a son as socially inept as that loose in the world.

So what _did_ Ryuzaki do for a living? Why did he want a dying man to work for him? So he had done research; so what? Surely he had found that Light had a job lined up on Monday with the NPA, which was a hard to get and high-paying job. What made him think he could offer Light something better?

So many questions. He would have to be forthright about getting the answers later. He wouldn't bother to ask indirect questions and make it look like he was uninterested. The energy to play mental games had abandoned him along with the desire to live.

He opened up the refrigerator again and rifled through it, removing a bottle of water and a cup of diced melon and strawberries. It would be rude of him to completely refuse Ryuzaki's generosity, after all, and the fruit had a certain appeal. He nibbled at it as the city lights and cars on the highway zipped by on either side. Tranquility stole over him, and he welcomed the sensation, absorbing the near-silence inside the vehicle.

The last few weeks had been disheartening and even humiliating at times, but with his decision made, things had started looking up. He felt close to peaceful now. It was hard to put the exact feeling into words, but he relished the sense that he didn't have anything to worry or care about right now, nor would he ever again.

If only he could hang onto this sensation for the rest of his life, he wouldn't mind being alive so much.

* * *

Light spent the rest of the ride staring out the window, his mind refreshingly blank, before he felt the car come to a stop and wake him from his semi-doze. He let Watari open the door for him since he assumed it would be rude not to before looking up and up and up at the hotel they had stopped in front of. It was easily forty stories tall, probably more, and the entrance was a resplendent beacon of light in the growing dusk. It was palatial yet neither gaudy nor flashy, and it looked expensive simply because it was so sophisticated.

Watari told him that he would meet him in the lobby after parking the car, and Light nodded. He took his time walking up the flower and plant-lined walk to the glass doors. The lobby was tiled in white marble, and a long black check-in counter stretched before him. Silver sconces set in the walls lent a soft glow to the room. He stepped over and took a seat in a black leather chair off to the side to wait for Watari. Opulent was a good way to describe this place.

Watari rejoined him a few minutes later after Light had plenty of time to discretely observe his surroundings, picking out the security cameras and exit doors without actually thinking about it. As intelligent as he was, he had always spent more time observing his surroundings and analyzing those he spoke with rather than thinking of what to say in response to their shallow conversation.

He stood and followed the elderly gentleman to the elevators, noting that he selected the second highest floor, the fiftieth floor. The fifty-first was labeled "Restaurant." Light tried to recall the last time he had been in a building this tall. While it was impossible to survive in Japan with a fear of heights since everything was built to maximize vertical space, he didn't think he had utilized many opportunities to see the city from this high up.

After several minutes of other people getting on and off, they arrived at the fiftieth floor. Watari led the way to one of only four rooms on this floor. Light doubted they were all this big, so these must be Presidential suites or something. Again, he found himself strangely humbled by his station in life. He wouldn't give any indication of this, however, so he stood tall and looked as if he had been born to this. Ryuzaki had only ever seen him in bad situations, so now was a good time to leave him with the impression that Light was cultured, intelligent, and adaptable to different situations.

Watari opened the door and stepped back for Light to enter, which he did, wrapping his invisible cloak of feigned superiority around him as protection against his own misgivings about this, however slight they were. Not knowing whether or not to proceed through the hallway that opened into a large living room with several closed doors on the sides, he was going to wait for Watari when a voice called out.

"In here, Light-kun! Straight ahead!"

How jarringly rude that was. Light fought not to curl his lip in disgust when Watari could see him. The whole evening thus far had been one of extravagant surroundings, opulence he could never afford, and quiet politeness on Watari's behalf. It was oddly dreamlike.

Ryuzaki's discordant and annoyingly casual shout seemed to shatter that impression, rendering it all fake in Light's memory.

Ryuzaki was the strangest, most contradictory man Light had ever met, without a doubt.

Light walked resolutely ahead, annoyed that the man was shouting at him from another room without even bothering to get up and greet him. Hadn't Ryuzaki invited him here? What kind of a greeting was this?

He stepped into the main living space and took a quick glance at the furnishings, noting the papers sitting atop marble-topped tables, the files scattered across a cream-colored sectional sofa, the tray of sweets resting half-eaten on a coffee table, the doors that opened to other rooms, and the floor-to-ceiling windows that afforded the best view of the city that could be had outside Tokyo Tower.

His eyes drank it up in seconds, including the large TV that showed what looked like... Light frowned. _He_ was on the television. The screen was divided into four sections: one showed the front entrance to the hotel, another the lobby, the exterior of what was probably Ryuzaki's door, and the final one was Light himself, framed by the hallway. His eyes flicked to the tiny camera in the corner of the room. So Ryuzaki had been watching him ever since he arrived and wanted him to know it. That was odd.

"Hello, Light-kun!" Ryuzaki called out cheerily as he exited the kitchen to the right of the living room.

He was dressed the same as every other time Light had seen him, in a white shirt and loose blue jeans, and he carried a pot and a fragile-looking cup. He hopped nimbly over the side of the sofa and crouched in that strange way that he had sat atop the table while he and Light were in the park. Amazingly, he didn't spill a drop of the liquid as he poured it into his cup.

"Watari will take your coat, please have a seat, Light-kun," he said in a rush.

Light shook off his muteness at all the strangeness, gave the older man his black overcoat, and sat down on the sofa somewhat across from Ryuzaki. Thankfully, this part was devoid of paper litter and folders. He tried to put his thoughts in order as Ryuzaki dropped cube after cube of sugar into his teacup, humming softly as he did so.

This whole situation was so surreal. Nothing seemed to match up: Ryuzaki's incongruously scruffy appearance and his apparent wealth, the papers scattered across such expensive furnishings, Ryuzaki's seeming treatment of Watari as a servant right now, not even speaking to him and acting as if he was at the younger man's beck and call.

Light realized the time had passed to greet Ryuzaki properly, but he tried anyway, annoyed that he was acting so awkwardly.

"Good evening, Ryuzaki-san. Thank you for inviting me here."

Ryuzaki looked up at him as if amused while he stirred his tea, which smelled like a black tea rather than a vegetative green.

"No need for such formality, Light-kun. I've already told you to call me Ryuzaki. I suppose it's forgivable that you forgot given the circumstances, however."

Light tried to keep the blood from rising to his cheeks. Was the man insulting him so early into the evening?

"Would you like some coffee or tea while we talk?"

"Coffee would be-"

"Watari!" Ryuzaki interrupted, and Light tried to ignore the abrasive sound of that demand for the older man's attention. It was now quite clear that Watari was Ryuzaki's butler or servant rather than simply his friend, as Light had earlier surmised. "Please bring us a pot of coffee and some cream on the side for Light-kun.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you to meet me." Ryuzaki changed gears in a heartbeat, but Light had no trouble following him. "Do you recall all that we spoke of last night?"

Light surmised that he was asking if Light could remember everything from the night before, even if little of it had been of substance. Except, of course, the part where Ryuzaki guessed that Light was... suicidal. He hated that word, even if it was the truth.

"Yes, I do. I also recall that you were vague about mentioning business even though you seem to know that I will be working for the NPA starting Monday," Light said.

"I know that, yes."

Light's eyes flicked to the side when he saw movement on the television screen. It was only someone entering the hotel, but it was distracting. He could still see his head on the bottom right corner of the screen.

"Why are you watching the hotel's cameras? And why do you have one installed in here?" Light asked.

"You learn to be careful in my line of work." Ryuzaki opened a laptop that sat to the side of the decimated dessert tray and punched a few buttons. The display on the television blinked out, and Ryuzaki shut it off and closed the laptop. "I also wanted to observe your behavior as you came in."

Light raised an eyebrow as he asked, "May I ask why?"

"Of course. I'm contemplating making you a job offer, and I want to know your observation skills and behavior as early on as possible. How many cameras were in the lobby and outside the hotel?"

Light blinked. He had guessed that the man wanted to hire him in some way, but he wasn't dissuaded by the fact that Light already had a job lined up? His questions didn't give him any time to ask any of his own. The man was incredibly forward, but Light was interested in the challenge posed to his observational skills. It made this exchange interesting.

"Two were in the lobby, one above the door behind the check-in counter and another in the right corner pointed at the front door. There's another outside the front doors, and I think there was one near the end of the walkway, pointed at the passenger drop-off area."

"Very good, Light-kun. How many residential floors are there here, and what are the other levels for?"

Light looked off to the left as he tried to recall from his quick glance at the elevator's buttons.

"There are two parking levels below ground, the lobby, the mezzanine floor, two levels for convention rooms and one probably for a pool and fitness center since it's labeled P and the two are often co-located. That covers floors one through five and the two below ground, so that leaves forty-five floors of rooms and the topmost floor, which is a restaurant. I'm also guessing that there is an observation deck on top since there is a great deal of glass and lights on top of the hotel."

"You would be correct, except for the fact that the fitness center is on the mezzanine floor, but there was no real way to know that. Was there anything unusual about Watari when he picked you up?"

Light's mind raced at the open-ended question. Watari had been dressed differently than before, but Light hadn't noticed anything unusual. He thought hard yet tried not to give it away. Ryuzaki's gaze was fixed on him, probably analyzing every movement he made. Watari discretely deposited a small tray with a silver carafe of coffee, a cup to match Ryuzaki's, and a server of cream. Light thanked him while he thought, pouring coffee to buy some time.

"He was dressed more like a chauffeur than the last time I saw him, but that was all," Light answered, staring at Ryuzaki, who stared back in a neutral manner, the end of his thumb now caught between his teeth.

"Watari was armed. The last time you saw him, he was not."

Light scowled as he added cream to his coffee and sipped at it.

"Armed with what? A derringer pistol? There was no room for a shoulder holster with the fit of his coat, and a hip holster would almost certainly have shown with the tails he had. Unless it was tucked into the back of his waistband and he sat on it while he drove, I don't see how that was possible."

Ryuzaki beamed.

"You are correct. I lied."

Light couldn't hide how baffled he was by Ryuzaki's behavior right then.

"This is the strangest interview I have ever had." Light couldn't say what prompted him to admit that, other than the fact that he didn't have a great deal of concern for the consequences of his actions right now.

"You would find my employer to be the strangest you could ever work for."

Now that was information Light was interested in against his will. He wanted to stop caring about life, not to find himself interested while he was deciding how to make it go away.

"Who do you work for, Ryuzaki?"

The man smiled in a Cheshire cat manner, the grin spreading slowly across his face until it was too cute for a man presumably in his twenties rather than a child. This had been the same smile that gave him chills in the park.

"I'll explain that later, if you're interested, but I'm not at the point where I'd consider making an offer yet."

It was like baiting him, so even though Light wasn't interested in getting another job that he was going to "quit" relatively soon, he was curious.

"What else do you need to know?" Light asked.

Light picked up his coffee and leaned back against the sofa, crossing his legs to appear more relaxed than he was. Ryuzaki's eyes noted this. Light didn't care at this point what observations the man made about him; he didn't even care enough to conceal information he would normally be evasive about. This conversation had been the most interesting of his life, which didn't say much about the intellectual level of his peers. Ryuzaki was refreshingly unpredictable even if he did anger him like no one else could as well.

Perhaps that was what Light had been missing all along: someone interesting and intelligent enough to make him feel anything other than boredom and a desire to get away from any conversation as soon as possible.

"How many languages do you speak, Light-kun?" That was an easy one.

" _I'm fairly fluent in English_ ," Light replied in English, guessing that this was either Ryuzaki's or Watari's native tongue since it had been the one they were speaking in when he first met them on the bridge.

" _Perhaps, but your Japanese accent is quite obvious. Your teachers were teaching you American English, correct?"_

" _Yes, and the accent was unavoidable. My teachers were all Japanese, and I don't have anyone to practice it with that is on the same level as me."_

" _That's a shame. We can continue this in English if you'd like the practice._ " Ryuzaki was speaking British English; something in his speech reminded Light of BBC rather than CNN news broadcasts, which was all Light had practiced with.

" _Whatever you like, Ryuzaki."_

" _Parles-tu français aussi? Sprichst du Deutsch? Tatakellum arabiyya_?"

Now Ryuzaki was being difficult. Light knew the first was French and the second German, but the third he had no idea. Had he said "Arabia?" Ryuzaki's expression had changed in interesting ways along with his choice of language. His "French" face had been one of lifted eyebrows and a pinched-looking mouth, he had scowled when speaking German, and his voice had dropped and become more guttural on the third language.

" _Oui, je parle un peu le francais, mais j'ai oublie beaucoup de mots. Je ne pratique pas la langue. No, I don't speak any German, and I don't know what the last was."_ Light responded with a little difficulty before switching to English, trying to arrange his French words in the proper order when he was long out of practice. He had learned this one in elementary and not really practiced it since then. He was amused to discover his voice still got higher and more nasal when he spoke French, which his teachers had claimed made it sound more realistic.

" _It's a shame that you forgot it. You should re-learn it. You should know at least one or two Romance languages, a Germanic language, and maybe Chinese or Korean. The fact that you seem fairly good at English is useful. The last was Arabic, and while there isn't nearly as much demand for my employer's services in that language, it's still good to know."_

So Ryuzaki's mysterious "employer" wanted him to know more languages before making him a job offer? Light would never turn down the opportunity to take difficult lessons or courses, but having to be in a class with people who learned more slowly than himself crippled his progress. He was endlessly hampered by their inabilities until he grew so frustrated that he worked ahead or learned on his own until he ran out of material. Light had always thought that if he had a tutor or someone to teach him one-on-one, he would learn so much more quickly than school could ever teach him. The problem lay in finding tutors that knew more than he already did.

"You had perfect scores all throughout school, I see." Ryuzaki switched back to Japanese as he picked up a rather thick folder. "I got these from the university and your high school."

Light suppressed the automatic irritation at the man's ability to find all of this out without his permission. Who was he that everyone was so willing to give him the information? Or was it his employer that these institutions respected?

"I'm glad you test well, Light-kun, but the purpose of my questions is to determine if you are an actual genius, as I suspect, or if you are just superior at memorization and can take tests well."

"I don't see how measuring my observation skills and finding out how many languages I speak is a good measure of my intellect."

"Me neither. Did you eat anything in the car?" Ryuzaki said.

Light, while puzzled by Ryuzaki's own admission about his questions, nodded. Perhaps he was implying he hadn't started that part of the interview yet.

"Only some fruit," Light said.

"Good. Would you like to get dinner upstairs? Consider it a business luncheon if you will. I'm interested in seeing if their strawberry cheesecake is better than Watari's."

"Watari cooks?" Light glanced over at the man, who stood at the side of the room as if waiting for Ryuzaki to summon him. He nodded with a grandfatherly grin, his waiter-like demeanor gone in a wink with that smile.

"Watari does everything. Come, Light-kun."

Ryuzaki hopped off the sofa and slipped on some battered white sneakers, barely tucking his toes into them before shuffling off toward the door. Light stood, not having recalled agreeing to this 'business luncheon' but lacking the energy to fight Ryuzaki, who looked determined about getting his cheesecake. Light was self-conscious about being dressed so well in the company of someone who looked like he slept in the clothes he was wearing, but he brushed it off with only a modicum of difficulty.

It was a short elevator ride to the top where Ryuzaki was greeted in person by the head waiter, another surprise for Light. Was the man a celebrity or just so wealthy that the hotel staff had learned to pay attention to him?

"I need a private booth for myself and my companion, please," Ryuzaki said with politeness rather than his normal brusqueness.

The waiter picked up the menus and took them straightaway to a table in one of the corners of the restaurant. There were plants atop the low walls that surrounded the two sides that didn't face the windows, and the leaves almost entirely closed them off from the rest of the restaurant. There was enough room for a waiter to stand between the fronds of ferns that reached across the empty space, so there was space for them to reach in order to put their meals down, but little else.

"Why the private booth, Ryuzaki? I thought you said this was a business luncheon, not a date," Light said after they had taken their seats and the host left them alone. He had no qualms about making a joke such as that when Ryuzaki had made the crack about Light being in his bed weeks ago.

Ryuzaki managed to sit in his usual position even in a booth, which looked very odd when all one saw were the tops of his knees peeking above the table. His hands rested atop his knees as he tilted his head in Light's direction, his eyes finding Light's under the curtain of his hair.

"Although Light-kun is very handsome, especially in his suit, I picked this table because none of the cameras can see over the plants, and no one can hear us as long as we keep our voices down. If Light-kun is not too disappointed by the fact that this is not a date, let us continue," Ryuzaki said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I assume you are still going to test my ability to fill this position you haven't yet described?" Light tried to make his voice sound bored instead of interested just to see if he still had the stamina for mind games in him. It sounded weak to him. He should probably quit trying.

"Oh, yes, this interview is far from over."

Ryuzaki left his menu on the table, apparently already decided about what he wanted while Light flipped through his. A waiter peeped between the ferns and flowers long enough to take their drink orders for coffee and water before vanishing again amidst the foliage.

"I am curious about something, Ryuzaki." Light continued to look over the menu as he spoke. "Why are you interviewing me? You know my _intentions_ as well as the fact that I already have a job, yet you seem to want me to work for you or your employer. You haven't told me what the work is or maybe I would understand, but I'm at a loss as to why you are doing this."

"I do know your 'intentions,' Light-kun, but the fact that you refer to them as such fails to convince me that you have the intent to go through with them. Thank you," he said suddenly to the waiter, who delivered their drinks. "I'll have the strawberry cheesecake and the vanilla mousse. Light-kun, do you eat lobster?"

At Light's nod, Ryuzaki added a lobster tail appetizer to his choices before the waiter turned to take Light's order. Light hadn't decided yet, but Ryuzaki was being irritatingly impatient.

"I'll have the Thai Lime Salmon with basmati rice." Light wasn't hungry enough to eat the entire meal, but it wouldn't hurt to be a little adventurous.

After the waiter left, Light looked hard at Ryuzaki. The man had as much as said that he didn't think Light was serious about dying.

"What does it matter what I call it?" Light tried to continue the conversation from before they had been interrupted.

"It's not important right now. Do you have a passport?"

"Yes," Light ground out, peeved that the man had thus far refused to answer most of his questions, instead ignoring the fact that Light had asked any. "I had to get one for the NPA in case work takes me out of the country."

"Good. Do you have any problem traveling out of the country? Motion sickness? Sea sickness?"

Light tried to stop his mind from trying to guess what all this was about since it only irritated him that he had no idea what was going on.

"I would welcome the opportunity to travel. I have never flown, but I've never shown a tendency for motion sickness or sea sickness."

"Excellent. Have you ever had homicidal tendencies?"

"No," Light almost chuckled at the complete lack of any connection to the previous conversation, but he opted to remain professional instead. Who knew what exactly Ryuzaki was trying to find out by questioning him in such a manner?

"Can you drive? If not, do you at least have a driver's license?"

"I know the basics of driving, but I don't have a license. It's not necessary with public transit," Light answered.

Ryuzaki waited while the waiter deposited the lobster tail in front of the two of them before motioning toward Light.

"That's for you, by the way."

"Then why did _you_ order it?" Light asked as he started to pick the meat from the shell with a slender fork. It had been a while since he had eaten any. "Are you a vegetarian?"

"Not really, since I don't eat vegetables either. Consider it a gift or a test." Before Light could inquire as to this "test," Ryuzaki already had another question handy. "Have you ever considered yourself superior to those around you?"

"No," Light said automatically, for that was a rude thought and he didn't want to admit to it. He continued to pry meat from the shell with decided nonchalance.

" _Lie_ ," Ryuzaki said simply. "That was well done, Light-kun, but I could tell you were lying because you moved your leg. I applaud you for still being able to concentrate on the lobster without showing that you were lying."

"So is that what this is for?" Light asked as he popped a piece of the meat in his mouth. It was tender and delicious. "How could you tell I moved?"

"Your shirt wrinkled when you said 'no.' You should work on that, Light-kun. It's a standard interrogation technique to watch for changes in behavior and position. If you had stopped eating or starting bouncing your leg, I would have known right away. Replying simply with 'no' was a good idea as well. It's customary for a liar to offer more information than is necessary or demand to know why I'm asking."

"Is this an interrogation or an interview?"

"A little of both. Have you had any interrogation training?"

"No, I'm an analyst. Are you implying that I'm merely a good liar?"

"Yes, but you don't need me to tell you that. After all, I'm sure your father has asked about your uncharacteristic behavior by now, and I doubt you've told him the truth."

"He hasn't, actually." Light ate another piece of the lobster tail.

"Another lie, but that was more difficult to determine. You're a fast learner, Light-kun."

"Any more interrogation techniques you'd like to share?"

"It will be part of your training if I think you're suitable."

Their conversation was put on hold when the waiter returned, this time with their food. This was the fastest service Light had received in a long time. He hadn't even finished the appetizer. Ryuzaki probably warranted special attention or something; it was impossible that this was normal.

"Thank you, and please do not allow us to be interrupted until I signal for you." The waiter bowed, acknowledging Ryuzaki's odd request. Light had a feeling that the discussion was about to become even more serious.

"What would convince you that I'm suitable?" Light asked.

 _Why am I asking? Why do I care in the slightest?_ Light knew the answer. He was interested because it was something _unusual_ , and this interview had been vastly different from his other one. The references to learning other languages and interrogation techniques as well as leaving the country had not been lost on him, either.

"Is Light-kun interested?" Ryuzaki responded immediately.

"I'm not sure yet. I'd like to know more, at least."

"Unfortunately, you cannot be halfway on this, Light-kun. You either want to train or you don't, and the interview ends here."

That was unexpected.

"I'm sorry?" Light was unable to think of a more intelligent way to ask as he picked up his set of chopsticks.

"Your desire to train is the final question in this interview. I will not divulge any more information until you answer my question." Ryuzaki set his cheesecake to the side and pinched his dessert spoon between his thumb and forefinger. "I'm well aware that you have suicidal _intentions_ , and I have no desire to waste my or my employer's time in training someone who is going to render it worthless."

He scooped up a bit of the mousse and licked it off with relish. Light was too stupefied to be disgusted by that. Ryuzaki leveled the spoon at him.

"Decide _now_ , Light-kun. Are you going to work for me, or are you just going to kill yourself?"

" _Don't say that_ ," Light snapped.

How weak that response sounded, but Ryuzaki was putting it so casually in such disgusting words. This was serious! This was someone's _life_ they were talking about!

"Why, Light-kun? After all, that's what you're going to do, isn't it?"

"How can you say that so casually?"

"Because I don't think you're serious."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eegads. This chapter was 7500 words long before I decided to break it up. L and Light are too talkative and, quite frankly, I was worried it was too much chatter without a break. For someone who considers writing believable dialogue a challenge, I think it's noteworthy that it's even this long! The rest is, of course, in the next chapter, and it won't be all technical stuff either.
> 
> I realize L is acting like a bit of a jerk, but it's all part of his plan!
> 
> If anyone MUST know what the foreign chatter is, it goes like this -  
> L- Do you speak French as well? Do you speak German? Do you speak Arabic? (repetitive, but he's only playing, after all)  
> Light- Yes, I speak a little French, but I forgot a lot of the words. I don't practice the language. 
> 
> No fish stick fingers this time; I actually got to sit inside my coffeeshop of choice this week rather than having to sit on the patio and be harried by very brave little birds.


	11. Apocalypse

"Decide now, Light-kun. Are you going to work for me, or are you just going to kill yourself?"

" _Don't say that_."

"Why, Light-kun? After all, that's what you're going to do, isn't it?"

"How can you say that so casually?"

"Because I don't think you're serious."

Silence fell as their eyes met. Time seemed to stretch out as chocolate eyes stared in mixed fury and disbelief at unflinching charcoal orbs. Those eyes were so cold, infuriatingly impervious to a stare that would have made lesser men flee without knowing why.

Light took a shallow breath, unwilling to let Ryuzaki know how much such a brief part of their conversation had upset him. Things had been going so well, and he willingly admitted that the interview was interesting even if Ryuzaki occasionally annoyed him. Now the man had clearly implied that he knew Light better than he himself did.

Ryuzaki was not a wise old man, and Light was certainly not an errant child that needed to be told how things were since he couldn't figure them out on his own.

Despite the fact that his normal response to this sort of indignity would have been a well-phrased sarcastic or condescending comment, he could think of nothing worth saying. He wanted to know why Ryuzaki doubted his sincerity, but he couldn't come out and ask him. He refused.

Ryuzaki seemed to take his silence for surprise or shock.

"You don't like my choice of words? How would you put it?" The man went back to eating his dessert, Light's rage rolling off him like water off a duck's back. Light frustratedly followed suit, separating pieces of grilled salmon with his chopsticks before daintily picking them up, deliberately slowing the blood that had been pounding through his veins.

"I prefer to think of it as leaving this rotten world while I still have my sanity. I'm not going to wait around for the apocalypse." Ryuzaki waited, his spoon still in his mouth and his eyes wide. When it was clear that was all Light was going to say, he pulled it out with a slight pop, his eyes still wide open yet managing to convey disbelief now.

"Pretty words, Light-kun, but I never took you for a poet." Light almost laughed at the sudden image he had of himself, 20 pounds lighter with black eyeliner around his eyes, sitting on a salt-encrusted rock overlooking the ocean with a notebook in his hand. Some poet he would make. Ryuzaki commandeered the sugar bowl as he continued, "How is the world rotten?"

"Watch the news, Ryuzaki. Crime, wars, genocide, corruption. Take your pick of those for starters." His flippant tone of voice surely conveyed he had spent much time thinking about this. It wasn't a snap decision, after all.

"But Light-kun, those are the very things you would be dealing with as a member of the NPA. They've always existed." Ryuzaki's almost child-like use of his name made him sound younger, especially when he was clutching the sugar bowl like a prized toy and emptying fully half the contents into his coffee. Surely at this point the taste didn't even resemble coffee anymore, more like brown sugar water. Light shuddered and took a bite of his salmon, which was simultaneously tangy and spicy, and banished the imagined taste of Ryuzaki's drink from his mind.

"That doesn't make them any easier to live with everyday." Light had already realized the paradox that Ryuzaki spoke of: that without the crime and corruption he so despised, he would be out of a job.

"Why don't you call it what it is?" Ryuzaki reverted to their earlier argument without any warning.

"What does it matter what words I use? I'm saying clearly enough that I want to die."

"Call it suicide, Light-kun. When you dodge the issue like you are, you make me doubt even more that you're serious." Ryuzaki cocked an eyebrow at him as he took a sip of his sugary sludge, the cup's handle pinched between two fingers.

"Maybe I just don't care for that particular word's connotation."

"It's what the coroner's report would say. 'Cause of death: suicide.' It's a medical and legal term, not just a romanticized idea. I don't understand your aversion to the word."

"There is nothing romantic or sentimental about it. It's just a means to an end for me." Light looked out the windows and refused to elaborate on why he hated that word, for he knew that Ryuzaki's seemingly innocent comment was just a query in disguise. He wasn't in the mood to humor him right now.

"Say it, Light-kun." The command surprised him and made him look back at Ryuzaki's unusually intense gaze. The man was riveted on him, leaning slightly forward in his crouch, a slight smile inexplicably playing around his mouth.

"Say _'I'm suicidal'_ or _'I want to kill myself.'_ I won't believe you until you use the words."

Despite his misgivings about Ryuzaki smiling in the middle of such a morbid demand, he felt the initial shock giving way to frustration. The man was backing him into a corner, refusing to respect him and his decision until he did as Ryuzaki pleased.

He truly wished he could hurl an appropriate insult or deflect the man's demands with sarcasm, which was more than he deserved. Light didn't have to do anything; he could walk away from this conversation and never see the man again. Hell, he could take the elevator up the extra floor and prove his sincerity if he really wanted to. 52 floors would definitely kill him.

Something other than his earlier desire not to leave a messy corpse stopped him. It was important to beat Ryuzaki at his own game, for he was certainly playing games with Light. Many of his seemingly innocent questions had been tests. He was certain he was still being tested in some capacity, and he was not going to fail.

Perhaps he did still possess the capacity to mentally fence with Ryuzaki. This conversation was rapidly becoming more of a confrontation as it grew more antagonistic, at least from Light's perspective.

From somewhere outside himself, Light mused that this dialogue was better suited to friends, people who at least had an interest in each other's well being, rather than two strangers who were merely conversing for the sake of argument. It was yet one more surreal thing to top the evening off.

" _I want to kill myself,"_ Light bit out in a monotone, making sure his voice was neither hesitant nor discomfited. He picked up another morsel, refusing to let Ryuzaki think he was anything other than sincere by changing his actions, whatever his interrogation techniques told him.

Ryuzaki's saccharine sweet smile appeared as his eyes lit up.

" _Lie"._ The word dropped with all the subtlety of a vase hitting concrete.

_Dammit, why?_ Light paused in the middle of chewing to glare at Ryuzaki, his eyes brimming with ire. He was still eating, and his voice hadn't wavered. What would make him think that was a lie? It was the truth, after all.

"You raised your eyebrows, Light-kun, and you smiled." Sure enough, Light felt the strangest tugging at the muscles on his face, which had obviously occurred without his consent. He smoothed over his expression with practiced ease.

"My smiles don't mean anything, Ryuzaki. They're as fake as any other expression I make." Ryuzaki looked hard at him, so Light returned the favor. The other's smile faded away as his expression changed to one of mild rebuke, as though Light had forgotten something he was supposed to remember.

"Nevertheless, you haven't smiled once at me since I met you. I'd call it a break from your normal behavior pattern and a dead giveaway, even if it is false."

Ryuzaki had a point. Light smiled again, just to dispel his theory and show how easy it was for him to feign merriment, but it was like trying to mold plastic rather than clay as his muscles suddenly refused to cooperate. Ryuzaki's eyebrows raised querulously over wide and amused eyes, so the look on his face must have been disturbing.

Light let it melt away, like chocolate in the sun, confused as to why this was so difficult. His expressions were never genuine, so the fact that he had actually smiled like that without meaning to was shocking, even to him. He couldn't keep his eyes from unfocusing slightly as his surprised thoughts suddenly turned inward, demanding answers from his subconscious.

Ryuzaki tilted his head, looking strangely bird-like as his gunmetal eyes pinned Light in place even through the unfocused haze.

"Could it be that _you_ don't even know you're lying?"

Light couldn't look away, but at least he could avoid focusing on the man's piercing gaze. His stomach fluttered briefly in nervousness, for Ryuzaki's words seemed unfortunately plausible. So much of what the man had already said proved that he was quite experienced at reading people's behavior and even with reading _him_. While Light could admit to being arrogant almost to a fault when it came to confidence in his own decisions, it would be folly to ignore the words of someone who obviously knew what he was doing, even if his own observations contradicted Light's.

The conversation had taken on new significance. Light's foundation, his near-absolute belief in his own rightness, trembled slightly. He could feel it in the way that his self-confidence wavered, like a tower built of stone atop that foundation.

Light Yagami was a genius. In his 23 years, his observations of the world he lived in and the people who populated it had never been incorrect. He had always had perfect or near-perfect scores in school and university. He had gotten a job straight out of college as an intelligence analyst in Japan's National Police Agency. Everything pointed toward the fact that he could make intelligent decisions and have every confidence in them being truth.

_So why do you make me doubt myself, Ryuzaki?!_

Maybe because this time, Light was gambling with his life. He was confident that he had made the right decision last night. Had it only been last night? It felt like years ago. So many things had changed in such a brief period of time.

His life was a high price to pay if he was wrong, however. The only way he could know if it was right was to trust in himself.

His eyes slowly refocused, bringing Ryuzaki's shadowed, black-hole eyes back into view. The man hadn't moved, his head still cocked to the side. He was obviously taking note of everything Light was doing.

Ryuzaki was very intelligent, and apparently made a living by using his intellect. He was likely a genius as well, which meant that his observations carried as much weight as Light's own. He had known him so briefly, yet Light knew the man could read more into him than his own family. He discovered so much just by watching him.

If Light continued this conversation, things were going to change. Even though he would not be asking for help, for the first time in his life, he would be asking someone else for answers. The significance was earth-shaking to him.

He walled himself inside his tower, unconsciously seeking refuge in his confidence in his rightness because it was all he had, even if he was just about to admit that his thinking might not be infallible. It was perhaps a poor choice, but he couldn't be completely transparent with Ryuzaki.

"If I was lying, then what do you think I am if not- suicidal?" The pause was small, but it was there, and they both caught it.

"I think you are clinically depressed. I also believe that life hasn't offered you any challenges and you've had an easy time of everything. Over the years, you have grown tired. You see nothing ahead of you that demands your intelligence or your attention. You have found no solution to your problem of being endlessly bored, and you are looking for a way out. I don't think looking for an escape makes you suicidal." Ryuzaki spoke in a deadpan, like a doctor clinically detached from his patients. His tone was not at all patronizing, which would have taken Light straight out the door and out of Ryuzaki's life forever.

Not to mention, Ryuzaki had just read him, nearly thought for thought, like an open book. In spite of that, Light was not yet willing to relinquish what he perceived as having the upper hand, that of being who he was and thinking he knew his own intentions.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe suicide would qualify as a very certain escape from what you just mentioned." It was humiliating to think of it as something as cowardly as running away, but as far as the wording of Ryuzaki's argument went, it was correct. The man's logic was sound.

"It is one of several options, Light-kun, but I do not think it is the answer to your particular problems." Ryuzaki used his dessert spoon to stir his coffee, his eyes moving down to look into it and releasing Light from a gaze he hadn't realized he was trapped in. "You are curing the disease by killing the patient, and while I am no doctor, I know that to be foolish."

"Why didn't you think I was serious earlier?" Light had to know exactly how and why he was wrong, if in fact he was. He was unwittingly starting to trust Ryuzaki's judgment, for a tiny part of him wanted to hope that there was another way, one that didn't involve death.

Especially if he was wrong. Death was final, and perhaps Ryuzaki's solution was not. He would never know the solution, however, if he was not proved wrong.

This had turned into a fight for his life, and Light was not sure whether he wanted to win and die, or be wrong and live.

"Back to that, are we? Your words and your actions don't match up, Light-kun." Ryuzaki picked up the remnants of his pudding as he spoke and leaned back against the booth, balancing the bowl on his knees. He continued to keep his eyes on Light as he finished off his dessert, and Light followed suit even though the food had lost most of its taste. The conversation was too important to be distracted by such trivialities.

"In what ways?" Light stared stonily back at Ryuzaki's mild amusement. "I'm serious." Immediately he regretted making that last statement. The small sentence meant that the conversation was more significant than he was willing to divulge. It made him sound... desperate, unsure of himself. He needed details, though. In order to dispel what he thought had been an ironclad argument, the pros and cons meticulously weighed out in his head, he had to have a solid rebuttal. If there was more information available, he had to know, and he had to have details.

The spark of interest in the other man's eyes at his inadvertent admission ensured that it's significance was not lost on him, either.

"First, Watari called me from the car to say that you two were on your way. At that moment, I was 25 percent convinced that you were not serious. Then, I see you dressed as you are coming into the hotel, and I added another 10 percent." While he delightedly licked pudding off his spoon, Light did not get the impression that his words were anything other than meticulously thought out.

"Maybe I just wanted to look presentable. Why does the clothing matter?" Eating was helping his muscles to relax even if he couldn't focus on the taste, so he continued the menial activity to keep himself from getting nervy.

"Exactly, why _does_ it matter? Why do you care what I think of you if you're going to kill yourself anyway? You've obviously put thought into what you're wearing and you have been very polite and you present yourself very well, but it shouldn't matter. After all, I'm not going to change your mind about it, am I?"

_No..._

_Maybe._

"No." Light had flashbacks to when he thought that Ryuzaki could have changed his mind while he was drunk and almost shivered, but then Ryuzaki would have accused him of lying. He held himself still, taking noting of every action he took to make sure he was not lying, even to himself.

Ryuzaki's eyes narrowed at him.

"Second, you refuse to refer to your actions as suicide, and you didn't like when I asked if you were going to kill yourself. I think that when you talk around it as you do, or be sarcastic about it, you are either ashamed or embarrassed to think of it. Your statements left me 55 percent certain of my observations.

"Why are you here, Light-kun?" The sudden question caught him only slightly off-guard, for he was growing accustomed to Ryuzaki's sometimes disjointed manner of speaking, as though he didn't need to bother making a transition because he knew Light would follow. He set down the chopsticks and picked up his coffee cup instead. The coffee was dark and faintly bitter on his tongue.

"Because I said I would come. I always keep my word, even when I'd rather not." His eyes drifted toward the large windows as he responded, taking in the breathtaking view of the city lights and the last gasp of the blood-red sun on the horizon.

Ryuzaki set down his empty pudding bowl, and the movement caused Light to look back in time to see an unexpectedly exasperated expression on his face.

"That is my third argument. 80 percent. I have the impression that you are a man of your word, but I'm almost a complete stranger to you. I don't think you would put my feelings above your own need to end it all, honorable or not. Suicide is a very selfish concept, after all."

Light didn't like hearing Ryuzaki put it in words like that. He didn't like hearing words like selfishness and feelings in the midst of a strong, intellectually driven argument. Words such as that had no place alongside reason.

After all, his decision had been based on exactly that, reason. Not sadness, and not despair. He was _not_ ruled by his emotions.

"Fourth." _There's more?_ Ryuzaki pulled his cheesecake closer to himself and took a nibble of it before speaking, an expression of joy washing over his features.

"This argument itself is my final reason for saying that you are not serious about committing suicide. You are starting to doubt your decision, and you want someone else to offer intelligent reasons to dispel it rather than admitting to yourself that you might be wrong."

Air suddenly seemed to be having trouble getting into his lungs, as though he was trying to breathe through a pile of blankets. He was being smothered. His ears were ringing. The coffee cup banged unceremoniously atop the table, but neither of them took notice of it.

"Am I wrong, Light-kun?" Ryuzaki's voice was as clear and piercing as a bell in the night, his eyes magnetic. Light couldn't answer as he had to work just to draw breath. He felt frantically for the walls of his tower just to make sure they were there.

"I am 100 percent convinced now that you don't want to kill yourself." Ryuzaki's eyes dropped to his coffee as he stirred up the sugar with his spoon, but Light found it only marginally easier to breathe. He felt sick to his stomach.

"Then why...?" What was he going to ask? What question did he want the older man to answer for him? This was coming perilously close to asking for help, and he didn't need anyone else's help. The words had merely slipped out, a reflection of the incomplete thoughts that swirled in his head like blinded, crazed birds.

"Why- do you think you want to?" Ryuzaki finished his thought, and Light found himself nodding the slightest bit, cursing himself for not using words.

"Because you don't know what else to do, and you can't ask for help."

_Dear gods._

Lightning crackled across his mind's eye.

_He's reading my mind._

_This isn't possible. This means that he's right. He's right about all of it._

"Light-kun." Light looked up, desperately trying to keep any expression at all from crawling across his face. The world was turning red around the edges, and Ryuzaki's face was darkening.

His foundation rocked, as though he had built up his self-confidence, his entire being, on a swamp. There ... there was no foundation anymore.

_He's right._

_And I'm... I was..._

"Light-kun."

_...wrong._

The tower shook as if in a storm, great cracks running up it with lightning speed. The scream of the rock tearing apart was deafening, the thunder of it all coming down ringing in his ears as blood-colored spots burst in front of his eyes.

"Light-kun, _breathe! Wake up!"_

More thunder rolled threateningly in a sky the color of lead. The world was coming apart. He fell, naked and vulnerable, into the swamp amidst the shattered remains of his tower. His surety in his rightness and his arrogant self-assurance were gone. He swam frantically, trying to keep his head above the murky and reed-filled water, reaching desperately for the rocks that sank below the surface even as he touched them.

Something was dragging him down, and he couldn't swim with the marsh plants choking the water. The sky fuzzed out of existence as he sank below the filthy waters.

Something gripped his shoulders, and his head snapped suddenly forward as he was rather violently shaken. Air rushed into his lungs as his brain kicked back into gear. The swamp and the leaden sky vanished and Ryuzaki appeared. He was half-leaning over the table, and when Light's eyes snapped into focus, the man released his hold on him and sat back, giving Light back his breathing room.

Light fell back against the seat, his eyes wide with shock as his shoulders rose and fell with sharp breaths. What had just happened? His shoulders still ached where Ryuzaki had pinched them between his bony fingers.

As the blood returned to his head, he worried it was coming back with too much force as he flushed with mortification. He was almost dizzy with the shock of it. Something cold pressed against one hand, and he looked down to see Ryuzaki pushing his water glass against his half-open palm.

The man said nothing, and Light was grateful for that as he tried not to let his hand shake when he picked up the glass. It took a moment to remember how to swallow, but the cool water felt good on his aching throat. He forcibly slowed his breaths down lest he become giddy with the excessive oxygen.

"Are you convinced, Light-kun?" So much for him not saying anything.

_Can you not even give me a moment?!_ Light had only moments ago come to the realization that he was wrong about something for the first time in his life. The shreds of his pride that he still clung to like a cloak in a gale-force wind would _not_ allow him to admit that to someone else so soon.

"Supposing I am wrong," he swallowed, "what do you propose is the proper solution?" Ryuzaki's expression flattened out, as though Light had disappointed him by dodging the question. It was a wonder he could even speak, let alone keep from saying the wrong thing.

"Work for me." Light chuckled, but it sounded choked.

"And how would that cure my _depression_?" He did not mean to emphasize the word, but he didn't want to avoid saying it or he would look even weaker than he already had. He had endured enough of his pride being trampled on already.

"It won't cure you. You'll cure yourself. Light-kun, you are convinced that the world has nothing interesting to offer you, but there is more to life than Japan and the NPA. Your intelligence gives you so many choices, and it would be a shame to see your genius wasted, either by dying or by staying in the NPA.

"I'll show you the world, Light-kun, but you have to accept my offer first."

How could he put that kind of faith in someone else, and so soon? He had just lost everything, his self-assurance toppling into the waters of uncertainty. His intelligence, which was tied directly to his sense of infallible rightness, was the one thing he had clung to amidst the turmoil of the recent weeks, and now that he doubted it, it was gone. He didn't have faith in himself; how could he offer it to someone else? That would be so much more than asking for help...

That would be _begging_ for it. It would be like admitting that he couldn't save himself and needed to _depend_ on someone else.

How could he stay close to someone, depend on someone that could destroy him with the kind of power he wielded? Light was stripped bare right now, defenseless before a power that he had never faced before.

_Knowledge_. True knowledge of how he thought, and who he was.

Ryuzaki was terrifying right now. He could see right through him.

Ryuzaki had rebutted his argument for suicide thoroughly and intelligently. He was right in that Light was not entirely convinced anymore that he wanted to die, and also correct in knowing that Light could not and would not ask for help.

He gathered the shreds of his pride, the only thing he had left to cover himself with as shame washed over him for being so wrong.

Ryuzaki seemed ignorant of Light's predicament as he gleefully devoured his cheesecake even though Light was sure that the man was still observing him. His eyes dully met Ryuzaki's, and he stopped eating.

"Have you made your decision? What will it be, Light-kun?" His voice was slightly colored with enthusiasm, as though he was pleased with himself for winning an argument but unwilling to gloat and appear to be rubbing it in.

All he had left was his pride. Pride that would not let him beg even though his faith in himself was decimated. He didn't know what was going to happen next. He stood on the edge of a precipice now, lost without the solution that he had come up with but unwilling to take another's if if meant losing control.

"No." It was a whisper.

" _What?"_ He had obviously surprised Ryuzaki. If any part of him was capable of laughing right now, the indignant squawk would have been hilarious.

"I don't... want it. I'm sorry, Ryuzaki." This was not his pride speaking now.

It was Fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm using the word 'apocalypse' in two different contexts. The one Light uses is the oft-incorrect reference to Armageddon or the end of the world, when the word actually means "lifting of the veil" as it is used in the chapter title. In this case, Light has realized that he is not infallible. Sounds inane, but think, this is someone who believed he could become god by supernaturally killing people. I imagine his reaction to realizing that he could be mistaken being comparable to how distraught he became at the end of the series when he couldn't think his way out of Near's trap. In both cases, Light realized he was fallible and quite mortal. I toned it down a little, heh.
> 
> More chatter (4/10) - Someone pointed out that there is a tarot card with a tower and lightning on it (called The Tower, amazingly enough). I guess towers would be a recognizable symbol for one's ego or self-righteousness. Now, according to the card, Light can begin rebuilding himself... or just stewing in his own juices until L comes along and saves him... or not. I hate giving things away. XD


	12. Failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you thought Light handled shock badly, heh. The song "Selenite" by Rurutia, the end theme for the first half of Karas, is good for the second scene. It made me cry, at least.

L's fork clanged to his plate, forgotten as his mind snagged on the words and derailed the train of thought he had been pursuing. Light didn't react to the sound other than to move his eyes to the side. He looked unsure and uncomfortable, though not to the same extent that he had when he had been shocked into not breathing.

His heartbeat sounded like a bass drum in the silence, waking him out of his brief but startling reverie. With the return to full awareness came the train wreck of his thoughts crashing together, all clamoring at once to be heard and stepping all over each other in his head.

Everything, _everything_ , had gone according to plan! So why was Light balking at his offer? Why on earth was this genius who so perfectly met L's qualifications refusing to accept... _anything_? L was so livid that his inner monologue didn't even have his usual intelligence behind it. His thoughts were stuck on repeat, the same statements and questions running through his head in an increasingly agitated sequence. He replayed his mental process though he knew that everything had proceeded as expected, his own need for self-assurance demanding that he review it.

_He looks unsure. He's doubting himself, so now is a good time to close the argument._

_Ah, he's convinced, completely. Now give him a few moments to think._

_Time to step in and make the offer again, throw him a lifeline._

_Pause._

" _No."_

" ** _What?!_** _"_

 _How can he say no? He knows I'm right! What's_ wrong _with him?_

_You're sorry? Not as sorry as I am, Yagami Light! How... how **dare** you make me wrong!_

'What', indeed. Such an eloquent word for the world's greatest detective. He didn't need Light to repeat the statement, however. He knew exactly what was said, but surprise the likes of which he had never felt forced the word out instinctively, something in him still hoping he had not heard correctly.

He _was_ the world's greatest detective! His own record could attest that L didn't _make_ mistakes! He only entered arguments into which he was assured of victory, of defeating his opponents with fact and cold reason. L refused to argue with those so far beneath him in intelligence that his words were wasted on them out of their inability to understand logic. Light was brilliant and worth arguing with, and L knew what was wrong with him, crushing Light's own reasoning for suicide so thoroughly that it had shocked him into not even paying attention to such an elementary function as breathing. Light's reaction showed that he knew L was right as well, so why was he refusing him? Why would he not accept something that would save him from dying a wasteful, _stupid_ death?

L's fingers twitched as he reached for his fork, annoyed at his inability to contain his own surprise. He was showing a remarkable similarity to Light's own manner of dealing with shock.

Light glanced back at him at the movement, and L was both pleased and infuriated to see that placid expression that Light had often worn over the course of this evening back on his face so easily. The boy had a masterful control of his body language and expression, but even L was surprised that he could don this mask so soon after what should have been a crippling loss on his part. After all, L had just knocked this genius' feet out from under him. He should at least still be mellowed, maybe even humble, for a time, but already he was so composed, as though he and L truly were on a date and were wearing their happy masks to give each other good superficial impressions of themselves.

L injected nonchalance into every action as he slowly separated a piece of his cheesecake with his fork. His eyes rose to meet Light's just before he brought it to his mouth. There were so many questions raging through him at this perplexing turn of events, but he would not ask anything that would imply that he had any interests other than professional in this matter. He had no personal stake in it other than his own pride, after all.

The dessert was forgotten again as his hand stilled, frozen in place. He had his answer.

_Pride._

He had not taken into account the kind of foolhardy arrogance that Light possessed. He knew Light would be shaken when L revealed the inaccuracy of his convictions, and that part had turned out even better than he had expected. He had counted on the devastation, the lost look on the other genius' face, not his mind's complete collapse and shutdown. Playing the parts of both the conqueror and the savior, L had annihilated Light's castle with a few well-placed blows and then offered himself, a proverbial knight in shining armor, as a solution to Light's crisis. He should have been willing to accept help, especially if it appealed to his sense of purposelessness right now.

But he hadn't counted on his pride being stronger than his will to live. Light's pride kept him isolated, untouchable when inside of situations he could control, and he would not give the control to anyone, even if it meant that his inner struggle would kill him. It made him... unhappy.

_Foolish, Light-kun. How can someone with your brilliance be so blind? So willfully ignorant?_

Light leaned back in his seat, all of his mannerisms now demonstrating an eerie sangfroid. They might have only discussed the stock market in a particularly unconcerned manner, not matters of Light's own suicide and depression.

Forget Light being devastated, L was devastated and _humiliated_ as well. Light had turned his victory completely around by making the whole thing an exercise in futility. L had wasted the breath to explain, the time he had invested in research, the plans he had made to bring about this whole situation, even the money for this meal, _everything_.

Light's one little 'no' had not only spoiled his mood but given him serious doubts about his own self-assurance. He could not make a living doing what he did if he allowed himself to make mistakes, so he had been detached, impersonal through a computer screen, so that people saw him as a machine incapable of error rather than a human being. The great detective L was inhuman and was always correct in his brilliant deductions.

However, L Lawliet was a human. He had emotions, and things like disappointment and irritation affected him, as well as other things he would never admit to feeling. Most of all, he felt unhappy that Light had made him care even a _little_ about him and this situation and then threw it back in his face, remorseless in the way the truly selfish could be. It made his concern for the other's well-being seem like unwelcome affection, forced on him without his consent. L felt... _cheap._

L, the detective, stepped in and took over, crushing L Lawliet's human emotions underfoot and steeling himself so he was as cold as ever, though he doubted any of his inner turmoil showed in his features. He was too well-trained for such a slip, unlike Light. He took the bite of cheesecake, which was now ruined as well, its taste having all the appeal of a mouthful of sand.

He could think of no questions worth asking anymore. Light continued to sit there, that serene expression on his face. He was back to feeling nothing, sunken back into the depression that had gotten him into this situation. The same eyes that had shone with embarrassment, indignation, and so many other amusing things in the short time that L had known him were dead. L had to look away as those doll-like eyes continued to mock him.

Even though he had been victorious in this argument, only the bitter taste of failure remained in his mouth when it was over.

* * *

Something had changed in Ryuzaki, but Light could not tell exactly what was different. His shadowed eyes continued to meet his every now and then, but neither of them had said anything since Light apologized. Ryuzaki's face was blank and inscrutable as he continued to mechanically eat his dessert. Since Light had already finished his meal, he sipped at his coffee to give himself something to do. He really didn't want to start feeling awkward with the silence, so he put on his unfeeling mask, the same complacent one he had worn with his father earlier this evening.

It did much to hide the wreckage his inner self was right now.

With the revelation he had just had, all he wanted to do was leave this beautiful, pristine hotel and the person who had just destroyed him. He wanted to wander down the crowded streets, letting the garish lights blind his tired eyes and the mindless chatter dull his hearing just to remind himself that there was life around him. He wanted to feel the energy that flowed between so many people, tentatively trail his fingers through it, touch it to remind himself what it felt like. Even though he had nothing to give back, no life inside himself, he could vicariously feel it through others, whatever he thought personally of their faults.

On the heels of that came something he never thought he could feel, something that stopped an often aloof genius like himself in his tracks.

He felt so _alone_.

And he knew it was his own fault. He was surrounded by people, and he made himself invisible, untouchable by their petty human concerns. It wasn't normal for him to want company, but right now all he wanted was the reassurance that there were people around him. Being so lifeless was frightening without the knowledge that he could end it.

Right here, right now, he was dead inside, yet still so vulnerable even though he felt there was nothing inside him to hide anymore. Ryuzaki had seen down to his soul with frightening ease; did he have anything more valuable than that to conceal?

What could he do now? All he could see as the precipice, the cliff before him. He was at a standstill, not a crossroads. There were no options left to him. The brief false joy he felt since his decision last night had come from knowing that his emptiness would end after he confirmed the details of his pending death.

Now, he didn't have anything.

He stood at the edge of the cliff, clutching his tattered cloak, the embodiment of his pride, the only thing left to him after his conviction had been shattered and he was overwhelmed with uncertainty.

_What do I do now?_

There was no answer within himself.

He wanted to take Ryuzaki's offer, in a way, if only it didn't involve surrendering control to the other man, for there was no one in command of Light's destiny other than himself.

_Dammit._

He wanted to get away. It was suffocating to be around Ryuzaki. The man could probably see everything he was thinking even though he could feel no change in his expression. He had never thought himself an open book, but it was like Ryuzaki was reading his thoughts off a teleprompter. The man was good at what he did.

All the more reason for him to leave. It was ... creepy? Threatening? Intimidating? So many words and none of them fit the turmoil he was in right now. Getting away was his only goal, but he would not lose his composure again or be impolite. He could wait the time it took Ryuzaki to decide they were done.

"Is Light-kun finished?" Ryuzaki's unaffected voice drifted over from the other side of the table, jarringly real in the midst of his musings. He had one index finger bitten between his teeth, but his face was blank in defiance of what would normally be a nervous gesture. Light nodded in reply, setting his napkin to the side of his plate. His stomach was in knots as to what exactly to say to diffuse the tension he could feel even if Ryuzaki wasn't showing anything.

"I believe so. Ryuzaki," he inhaled, making it look like he was pausing to breath rather than figuring out exactly what to say. "I'm sorry you went to all the trouble-"

"What does Light-kun intend to do?" He continued to detach himself from Light by speaking to him in the third person, which didn't sound so much amusing as cold this time. His eyes were half-lidded, his voice suffused with ennui, but Light knew this much had to be a front. Ryuzaki's time was surely worth too much to invest casual time in something that had yielded no results for him, but why would the man be trying so hard to hide any reaction to Light's refusal? His question alone contradicted his studious disinterest.

Light smiled a little, not concerned about hiding it. It didn't mean anything, after all. "I don't know, Ryuzaki."

"Do you still intend to go through with your decision?" Now Ryuzaki was avoiding the word 'suicide', strangely. Light waited before answering.

"I don't know about anything anymore." As much as it might have bothered him in the past to admit that, he had nearly passed out from shock and fear in front of the man who apparently read the inner workings of his mind, so how much worse could things get? He felt the smile melt away.

Ryuzaki set down his fork, placing one hand on the table as though to brace himself to stand, but he paused.

"Please don't be foolish, Light-kun." The words were meant for him, but his eyes were elsewhere. When they returned to Light, his expression was neutral. "Let us go. I'll have Watari take you home." His attitude, however slight, differed between the two statements, reminding him of Ryuzaki's desire not to look interested in Light's affairs.

It wasn't worth contemplating right now. He'd damned himself, anyway.

Light had thrown away the second lifeline in one night, turning away his own father's request to help him as well as a professional's strangely personal interest in keeping him from self-harm.

He knew that continuing this pattern would only isolate him further and make him even more miserable for the rest of his existence, but... something stopped him each time. He could not open his clenched fists to take the help.

Perhaps that, more than his depression, was likely to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That song undid me. I was also planning to incorporate more scenes, but playing it on repeat was emotionally exhausting and draining.


	13. Salvage

It was two very different young men who came back into the hotel room over an hour later. Wammy looked up from the newspaper he had been reading to greet them, but the words were forgotten as he took in the sight. To anyone else, it would look like two people, strangers maybe, entering the room and keeping a polite distance from each other, one remaining respectfully in the doorway of the other's suite as the other toed off his shoes and sauntered nonchalantly into the kitchen.

Wammy, however, could see and most certainly feel the tension in the air, and despite the blank faces, he noted the empty look in the Yagami boy's eyes and the downright disappointment disguised as apathy in L's visage. Things had not gone as L planned at all.

"Yagami-kun would like to return home now." L called from the kitchen, and Light showed no reaction to having L speak for him. His expression hadn't wavered since he stepped in. Wammy set the paper down, looking every bit the unconcerned butler as L had asked him to earlier that evening.

"I hope the interview went well," he ventured, curious as to what the result would be.

Light's face twisted into a slight smirk as he replied, "It was interesting." L mimicked him from the kitchen as he closed the freezer door with slightly more vehemence than was necessary.

"It was enlightening."

Light stared at the ground at that, but his expression blanked over, revealing nothing of what he felt. Wammy collected Light's jacket and handed it to the distracted young man. It probably wasn't wise to ask any more questions right now, for it would compromise the role he was playing. He opened the door to let Light out, heading out into the hallway himself before turning back as though he had forgotten something.

"I've left my driving spectacles. Could you call for the elevator while I head back in? It usually takes a while to get here since there are so many floors." Light nodded and started off down the hallway toward the elevators, and Wammy headed back inside. Not the most subtle of excuses, but Light looked so distracted that Wammy doubted he would realize it.

L was sitting on the sofa when he came back in, scrunched into as small a ball as possible, one that made him look young and frightened and, needless to say, very uncharacteristic of this borderline arrogant detective. Even more striking was the fact that he had a pint of ice cream clutched in his hands, eating out of the container as he stared out the glass windows overlooking the glittering expanse of the city below them. For L to shun his customary leaded crystal dessert goblets and delicate spoons and opt to eat straight from the carton was a testament to the disturbed state of his mind.

Seeing him curled up like that, distracting himself with food, it reminded Wammy of his wife all those years ago when she had been in her first trimester. The things she ate in combination usually turned his stomach, but she had remained deep in thought, contemplating motherhood and shutting out all other distractions. There was no talking to her when she was in that mood, and there wasn't any talking to L either in this particular position, but he was going to try.

"It didn't go as you expected." It wasn't a question.

"No." It often took almost 10 minutes to get an elevator on this floor, but Wammy didn't want to linger too long, so he pushed on ahead.

"Are you trying to offer him work or to save him, Ryuzaki?" Even in their suite, he usually referred to L by his pseudonym. Only at Wammy House or in the car did Wammy refer to him as L. As far as the question, Wammy knew the answer to his inquiry, but he wanted L himself to see that his interest might be more personal than professional, as he claimed it was.

"I'm trying to keep him from doing something foolish. He's so short-sighted that he can't see what a waste his death would be." L didn't turn to him, but Wammy could see his deadpan expression in the reflection on the window. He had his face schooled into apathy to hide the depth of his feelings, because L did have feelings, whether or not he admitted it. Wammy debated whether or not to make the next statement.

"He's not Mello." The result was instantaneous. L cringed for only a second, then snapped his head in Wammy's direction with an actual scowl on his features.

" _I know that!_ " The unusually raw emotion on L's face was like a window to his soul, for L normally showed nothing, instead growing less expressive the more he felt. It lasted only a moment though, and he turned back to his ice cream, his source of comfort, his expression dissolving back into its usual nonchalance.

"That was rude of me, Watari." It was the closest L ever came to apologizing, to point out the flaws in his behavior. "I don't want to talk about Mello."

"I only brought it up because I see some of the same things. I won't mention him again." L held the spoon in his mouth, his glassy eyes revealing nothing again as he waited for Wammy to explain his reason for lingering.

"Do you think you'll speak to Light again?"

L shrugged in response. "I don't know. He doesn't want my help."

"Let me know if you've thought any more about it. I should be back in an hour." Wammy picked up his other pair of spectacles as his excuse for being in the room and closed the door behind him, leaving L to think on his words, however simple they might be. As he headed toward the auburn-haired young man staring at the elevator buttons as if they held all the interest in the world for him, he contemplated the circumstances that allowed him to dispense advice to the world's greatest detective.

Their relationship was a strange one. It was true that right now, L was Wammy's employer. Wammy took orders from him and fulfilled a great many roles for the internationally-famous detective, ranging from secretary to liaison to driver and sometimes even butler. L paid for any of his expenses, but he didn't pay him a salary. After all, Wammy was also L's surrogate father and the man who had offered him a home when L had only been an unusually bright but essentially orphaned child. After his own mother signed away custody of him, Wammy had kept him from being sent to the state-funded orphanages and taken him home with him.

He hadn't had many children at Wammy House then, but L had stood out as preternaturally brilliant. He had brought in colleagues to test him and experts to train him when the child surpassed all their expectations. Even after L starting working as a detective and building his world-renowned reputation at the age of 14, surpassing his own "creators'" skills, he still treated Wammy with the deference due to a father.

However, for all his intelligence, his early and intensive schooling had left L woefully deficient in one area: social skills. His studies and his own introversion had kept him from forming any relationships other than professional ones, so while he could navigate the murky waters of political intrigue from his usual distance, he couldn't make friends or even approach people. Wammy started acting as L's public face, his handler, the one who interacted with people on his behalf. It was a penance of sorts for making the child so socially stunted in the first place. He could handle the social interaction, the meeting new groups of people, and especially the increasing notoriety of being the mouthpiece for L. He had the finesse that L lacked, and after a time, he had seen no reason to insist that L get out more and socialize, for he seemed content in his role as the invisible detective.

He hadn't realized the scope of what L was trying to do with Light until it was too late, for if he had, perhaps he could have imparted some more personal advice before it had come to this.

This being the young man with the dead eyes who didn't react to his presence.

While he wouldn't take matters into his own hands without L's permission, maybe there was something small he could do to undo the damage.

"Did Ryuzaki explain his proposal?" This was an innocent enough question that it shouldn't make him clam up on Wammy. Light looked over at him, his eyebrows lifted slightly in interest and his shoulders back, conveying the alertness he hadn't had a moment ago. There was even a slight smile forming as he shrugged nonchalantly.

"He wouldn't elaborate on it. He wanted me to agree before discussing it." Wammy backed up as the elevator dinged, allowing Light to enter first. "He's a very forward person," Light added, a mildly amused look on his face. This put a smile on Wammy's in reply, for Light didn't seem _entirely_ put off by the man. Maybe there was still hope in salvaging this connection too tenuous to be called a relationship.

"Ryuzaki isn't used to dealing with people face to face."

"I can see that."

"He means well. He just isn't very good at expressing himself." Light nodded and stared at the lights on the elevator as they lit up one by one as they descended. They rode the rest of the way in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Wammy led the way out of the hotel and asked Light to wait for him at the end of the walkway, but the young man said that he would be fine walking with him. He seemed preoccupied, glancing around with eyes slightly unfocused, as though he was thinking about something that demanded most of his attention.

After they had gotten into the car and Wammy had pulled away from the hotel, he glanced back at Light through the window between the driver's seat and the cabin. Wammy had lowered it out of habit when he parked, but Light didn't raise it as it had been when he had gotten in tonight. It would make it easier for him to talk to the boy, as well as seem less intrusive than if he had lowered the window to speak to him.

"Ryuzaki told me that you are going to start working for the NPA." Casual conversation seemed a safe route to take.

"Yes, starting Monday." His voice still had that distracted edge to it.

"Are you looking forward to it?" Light sighed, the gesture probably affected but significant nonetheless. Wammy had earlier concluded from L's description that Light was a great actor, most of his actions used to convey feeling when there wasn't any there.

"In all honesty, not anymore."

"I'm sorry about that. Any particular reason?" Light waited, and the older gentleman hoped it was because he was going to give him an honest answer and not because he felt his privacy was being invaded.

"It's not the challenge I thought it would be. To get in, I mean."

"Maybe a few weeks into it you'll feel differently. There's nothing quite like using those job skills that you've learned in school." Light laughed quietly, the sound both amused and condescending.

"I helped my father with cases when I was still in high school. The only difference is now I'm older and I have a badge too."

"He must be very proud of you."

"He is." The knowledge obviously didn't mean anything to Light with that bland and immediate response. Wammy knew he was treading on thin ice by trying to manipulate not one but _two_ remarkably intelligent people, but he had already decided to keep a window open in this boy's life, both by asking L to think about it as well as talking to Light. He thought the end result of L's plan was worth interviewing and training Light, but he hadn't known the coldly analytical way that L was going to go about it. It was an approach that would have worked fine with L, who was largely a creature of logic and reason who kept his emotions out of his work. With Light, who was already depressed and suicidal, this interview could very well be the nail in his coffin.

The most frustrating part of this entire situation was that there was no one he could tell who could do anything to stop it. Of course he knew who Light's father was, having served as Watari many times in his presence at the NPA headquarters. Soichiro would not recognize him without his usual disguise, but even so, would he ever take a stranger's word over his son's? Would there be anything either of them could do for such a proud, intelligent child who kept himself so isolated? Only Light was going to keep himself from doing anything rash, and that was why he had to appeal to Light's sensibilities rather than trying to come up with an indirect way.

"Yagami-kun," he paused, waiting until Light's eyes glanced at his in the mirror. "If you feel as though you are not finding the challenge you need in the NPA, please consider asking Ryuzaki what the job was."

"He wanted me to agree without knowing the terms. That's like signing a blank contract." His voice was snippy all of a sudden despite his earlier openness, and he was starting to clam up. Wammy's window was shrinking.

"Ryuzaki has a great deal of influence in his field, the same one that you'll be working in as part of the NPA. He can get you out of the agency if you want it, and his training will be far more intensive than what you've undergone so far." Now for the part that would appeal to the human side of him rather than the logical.

"Ryuzaki doesn't show it, but he knows what you're going through. He's trying to help you, and offering you work is the only way he knows how."

Light was staring out the window now. Anything more Wammy said was probably going to roll right off that cool exterior. He just had to hope that what he had said so far was going to do the trick. Maybe he was only sowing seeds that might come to fruition later, but even that was better than nothing.

The rest of the ride took place in silence, and Wammy hoped the entire way that he had said the right things.

Immediately after pulling up to Light's house, he exited the town car and opened the door for Light, not giving him the chance to escape without another word. It seemed he had no cause to worry, though, for Light was always gracious and had an intrinsic understanding of what was polite, waiting for him to open the door without an ounce of impatience. It was yet another thing that recommended him for this job of Ryuzaki's. He stepped out of the car, his hands still holding the coat he had never donned. His eyes met Wammy's before he bowed so slightly.

"Thank you very much for driving me this evening, Watari, and also for what you said. This evening has been a trial, to put it lightly."

"Just take how Ryuzaki _acted_ lightly. He wants you to have a future you are satisifed with. Take this," he handed over a business card, one similar to the cards he usually gave to agencies after L decided to get involved in their cases. It was a gamble he was taking, handing it over to a single individual, but anything was worth keeping a child from killing himself. "Just in case you change your mind. I'll always answer."

Light took the card, glancing at its pristine blankness except for the name "Watari" in capital letters. There was a phone number under it and nothing else. What Light didn't know was that this card was one of precious few. This phone number would always connect the caller to himself, whereas the other cards he handed out bore numbers that were changed as soon as L's dealings with the country were done. No one contacted L or Watari; _they_ initiated contact because L only took cases that were interesting to him, refusing to be at anyone's beck and call.

Wammy had basically given Light his personal phone number, one that connected to a phone that he kept on 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. The only other people that had the number were either at or from Wammy House. If L thought Light was worth investing time in, and Wammy had seen nothing that invalidated that interest, he would do what he could to see that Light had a way to contact him, even if L wasn't sure he wanted to stay in touch.

Light took his wallet out of his pocket and slipped the card into it, the gesture showing that he accorded it more importance than he would have by only putting it in his pocket.

"I don't know what I've done to deserve this interest, but thank you again." The words might be true or might only be false humility. There was no way to know for certain, but Wammy had done what he could to undo the damage L's impersonal interview might have caused. He hadn't lied that L was concerned; he could see it even if L would never admit it. His reaction to Mello's name alone revealed that the whole incident still left scars on him, other than just the physical ones.

He was probably trying to keep the scenario from repeating itself.

"You're welcome, Yagami-kun. It was good of you to agree to this meeting in the first place."

"It was certainly an interesting one." Light extended his hand, seeming to know that this would be a gesture Wammy was more familiar with, and he shook it in return.

"I hope to hear from you again." Light smiled at him, and this one seemed more genuine, which could have always been an act, but Wammy wanted to believe that it was more than that.

"Good night, Watari." With that, Light released his hand and stepped away. Wammy waited until he reached the door before getting back inside the car.

Only time would tell if this meeting bore any fruit outside another obituary in the papers. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, but he intended to check them on a regular basis. He couldn't interfere anymore without driving Light completely away by invading his privacy, but something demanded that he passively pay attention to see if anything happened. It would satisfy his own curiosity.

* * *

Wammy's words circled in L's head like vultures hovering over a carcass. They tore at a wound that was still festering inside L, one that he ignored, by and large, but this entire incident with Light had brought it back to the surface from its deeply buried place inside him.

People said that to ruminate on an incident or accident usually took away its power to cripple oneself, allowing one to heal and recover from trauma. Needless to say, L opened up to no one outside Wammy, and even most of his discussions with him only centered around work and living in general, never touching upon L's feelings. L took care of his problems in his own way, burying the memories so deeply that he couldn't feel the emotions tied to them leeching up through the soil of his mind. His life's work, unraveling puzzles and searching for clues, distracted him completely and helped him shovel even more earth over those unimportant issues from the past.

If L did not function as an inhuman machine, he would not have achieved the success that he did as the infamous detective. Dealing with his problems by opening up to other people made him human, _vulnerable_ , and he could not have that. He knew that Wammy had wanted him in the past to have friends, or even just socialize with the other children from Wammy House. They were more intelligent compared to the people outside, but L had no real interest in getting to know them. They were children to him, not peers. He had seen himself as unequaled.

Until he met Light.

There had been no connection at the start, merely an inconvenient revelation. The boy's comment about wanting to kill himself had sparked an unwilling interest in Light's life, for who could ignore what was basically a plea for help? Even L might have shrugged that off, but he conducted his own research into him anyway because that was what L did best: research and profile. He liked finding out information about people and things, especially if they didn't know he was doing it.

Finding that the boy was likely a genius and even seeing it for himself had made his interest more genuine. There was a correlation between Light's skills and a position that L had been peripherally aware of needing to fill. Even after their brief and strange conversation yesterday, he had been convinced that Light had the wealth of social skills that he needed as well as the intelligence. L acted on instinct, for his first impressions had seldom been wrong, and they told him that Light was suitable for this position.

Almost everything he had done tonight was a test. He confused Light as to Wammy's role, whether he was L's friend or father or servant, and Light had shown no surprise outwardly at the change in the situation. Despite L's rude behavior and interruption of him while he spoke, Light had remained composed and civil. His manners were impeccable, and he looked professional as well. He followed every disjointed comment in L's conversation, his mind keeping up with L's own, which would definitely be a useful skill for Light to have.

The interrogation part had gone well. The passport and license questions had merely established a baseline for Light's response to direct questioning, and after that, the seemingly unrelated inquiry as to his homicidal tendencies might have thrown him off, but again, Light had shown nothing other than casual interest, not showing surprise or defensiveness. He assumed that Light would have a bit of a superiority complex, as he knew he had, and Light had not failed him in showing that he was lying, even if his movement was subtle. After that, Light had made sure to continue whatever action he had been taking at the time that L asked the questions, using the technique to convince L that he was telling the truth even when he was lying.

His facial expressions and carriage almost always showed that he was calm and collected. L needed someone who would not buckle under strain or unpredictable situations, such as the ones that L had created for him. After seeing how Light acted tonight, he had no doubt that he wanted to train Light to be something so much more fulfilling than a simple analyst for the NPA. He had not found any candidates for the position in the orphanage; they were too young and too sheltered by growing up in Wammy House, much like he had been at age 14. L was worldly-wise now, but they were not, and he could not spare the time to teach them skills that were better learned firsthand. He needed someone like Light, someone with poise and eloquence who knew how to function in the outside world and had the social skills that L lacked and now refused to learn.

Light might have been perfect...

...but he had refused him and walked away without so much as a backward glance. He was probably going to go kill himself anyway, even after the conversation they had had. L swallowed another spoonful of ice cream at the unwelcome surge of melancholy that was so foreign to him.

Why did L's failures, so few and far between, always result in death? Most people made mistakes and lost money or relationships or material possessions. L lost people. _Always_ people, and always fairly young ones at that.

Beyond Birthday had died only last year at 26 years old, and even though L had never met him face to face, he had checked on his status two or three times a year, ostensibly only to make sure that B never dragged Wammy House into his sorry predicament. B had surprised him by covering any connection he had to the orphanage, for some reason or another. L had never intended to change his treatment toward this failed attempt at copying his analytical and deductive genius, but perhaps he had been humbled when Beyond died without even a word from someone he had undoubtedly worshiped his entire life. He had succumbed to some sort of infection going around the prison, an insulting end to someone as intelligent as he was even if his mind was irreparably warped. L knew that B's actions were his alone, but by being the original that these poor children had been cursed to copy made him responsible for their deaths, in a way.

A, whose real name he had never known, had died too, at age 16, after failing to meet the expectations set before him. Again at his own hand, but L still felt somewhat responsible. He had not known of the program at first, having just set off on his first international cases, and by the time he returned to Wammy House, he had been young and full of himself. His eyes had been full of the world and the challenges it held for him, not the tutelage going on at the place he had grown up. Roger and Wammy had briefly outlined their plan to him, and he had nodded and told them that training was good, especially if it created more investigators of his caliber. How arrogant he had been.

L stopped his musings, unwilling to let any more negative emotions rise to the surface and make him weak, so he blocked them out and buried them again ruthlessly.

L wanted to abandon the project. He wanted to sit here the rest of the night and finish off this container of something-or-another. He couldn't even taste much other than the fact that it was sweet. Wammy's words were not lost on him, but he didn't know what exactly Wammy wanted him to consider.

Did Wammy want him to... befriend Light? Even after Light had made it clear he wanted no help from him and would rather die alone than let go of his pride? Wammy had long ago stopped suggesting that he get out and talk to the other children or find hobbies that he enjoyed, so surely this was not a request for him to reconsider his treatment of Light. Or was it?

L and Wammy both knew about L's lack of anything resembling social skills. He didn't know how to casually open up to people without ulterior motives, and his own paranoia prevented him from sharing any actual information about himself in order to get closer to anyone. The children of Wammy House were raised to be wary of sharing too much information, and he had thought that wise when he was older even if it was so deeply ingrained into him without his will at first. He couldn't even reveal something so simple as his identity, for he had implied to Light that he worked for himself as some sort of underling. Sooner or later, after Light started working for him, he would have told him the truth, but he didn't know how that would actually happen.

He had reasoned that Light would respond to L's appeal to his feelings of listlessness, not become even more depressed and walk away.

Ultimately, another person walked away, another person who was likely to die from L's own failure to save him, even if L had never asked for the responsibility in the first place.

He really didn't know what he was supposed to think about anymore, so he stopped thinking, savoring the taste of the strawberry, white chocolate ice cream and watching the lights of Tokyo twinkle like a billion jewels strewn all over the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First L angry, now L sad? I liked to think that L was very human, just very "trained" not to think or act like one. Yay for mental conditioning!
> 
> I hope this speedy update made up for the brevity of the last chapter!


	14. Aftershock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint Mansell's "Lux Aeterna" is an incredible instrumental piece... to go along with this chapter.

It was hopeless. Living and dying, all of it.

If not for Watari talking to him on the way home, at least at the start, Light didn't know what he would have done. His thoughts had never been at such a standstill, circling round and round those two sentences. His life was pointless and exhausting, his death even more of a waste, especially if he didn't want to go through with it anymore.

Without his escape route, he was lost, and he didn't like not knowing what to do. His prized intelligence refused to work for him, short-circuiting and refusing to come up with a new plan now that his old one was gone. Like forcing a car that won't start, he kept trying come up with new ideas, but the battery was dead. There was no spark. He felt dead already.

He let go of Watari's hand and turned away, his eyes unfocusing as his feet took him toward the door, his body running on autopilot without any thoughts to direct it. He heard the car pull away, but he didn't bother to turn toward it, the memories of this evening already being shunted away into some compartment of his brain so he could dissect them later.

His eyes registered the sight of his father and mother in the living room as he closed the door and numbly removed his shoes. After an uncharacteristically subdued greeting, his feet carried him partway up the stairs without any further acknowledgment. He really didn't want to talk to anyone right now, but he also didn't want to be left alone with his _non-_ thoughts. There were so many paradoxes. He wanted to die, but he didn't want to throw his life away if it wasn't necessary. He wanted help, a solution to this misery, but he didn't want to ask for it.

He was so lost.

"Did you enjoy your evening out?" his father called out to him as he stood and moved to the bottom of the stairs, thwarting Light's chance to escape. Light stopped mid-way up, wondering whether to _actually_ be honest for once, or to just lie to keep things calm and stay detached. He knew he had to change the way he was dealing with things because it was the very definition of insanity to expect different results when doing the same thing over and over, but he wasn't sure he wanted to start talking about it yet. It was still too soon. So many of his thoughts about his future had changed drastically in the last two days, and he was nothing if not thoroughly rattled.

"It was… more business than anything else." He turned to face them. "Time spent with Ryuzaki is often _interesting_ , not necessarily enjoyable." He let the corner of his mouth quirk in amusement though he felt none at all.

"Something happened?" That was his mother, asking in her concerned way as she joined his father. Light gripped the rail, feeling like he was being interrogated now that his parents were showing an interest in something other than his grades. They never asked about his social life other than a vague inquiry about where he was if not in school, and even that they usually dismissed since he never offered much by way of explanation.

"Yes." To his surprise, an honest answer slipped out, but he turned away before his face could betray anything. "It's not that important, though. Good night."

He hurried away before they could say more even though he knew they could always come up the stairs after him. If only he could have some time to himself, without any distractions, he could sort out these thoughts and figure out exactly what had happened tonight.

He might even find out what Ryuzaki had _done_ to him.

The door closed behind him and he stood there, in the relative darkness, leaning up against it. Air sighed slowly in and out of his lungs as he tried to relax, unaware that he had tensed until his head started to ache from the tension in his neck. He still held his coat, however, and routine demanded that he take care of it. The menial task of putting his clothes away took his mind off the yawning emptiness he could feel at his back, the cliff he didn't have the courage to step off. The suit followed his coat, hung back up outside his closet until he could send it to the cleaners. He discarded the dress shirt in his hamper and went to get his nightclothes. Sleep and the accompanying oblivion sounded delightful. He could tackle the problem of his continued existence in the morning with a slightly clearer head.

There was still no knock at his door, and he counted himself fortunate as he dressed in the moonlight, not bothering to turn on a light. His parents were probably shocked that their perfect son had just revealed that things might not be so… perfect. He pulled his house robe on before heading across the hall to wash his face and brush his teeth. He thought he could hear voices downstairs over the murmur of the television, but he couldn't tell what was being said. At this point, he didn't care.

He fished the sleep aids out from under the sink while taking care of his nightly hygiene, unconcerned about the fatigue that would linger the next day from using them. Without sleep after an evening like today, he would probably go insane, and fatigue was not an unreasonable price to pay for the fabricated peace. He shook one tablet into his hand and stopped, his attention fixed on it for a long moment.

It was only an over-the-counter remedy, not a prescription sedative, but he still turned the thought over in his head.

_Sleeping to death... That sounded lovely._

It was no use, though.

Ryuzaki had punched too many holes in his resolve for him to contemplate taking the entire bottle. It made him feel cheated, for some _stranger_ with frighteningly invasive knowledge of him had thwarted his plans to save himself from a lifetime of misery. What right did he have to take away Light's certainty, his confidence in his own decisions?

Whatever his thoughts, there was no un-doing the damage. Light placed the single tablet on his tongue and closed the bottle back up, replacing it under the sink before washing the bitter pill down with a glass of water. The drying taste lingered as he left the bathroom, closing himself back inside his perfect, sterile living quarters. His _tomb_.

He hung up his robe and crawled into the bed to ward off the mild chill, but he didn't feel tired yet. His mind was just dead, and he didn't know what to do if he wasn't thinking. Neither the television nor the computer held any interest for him. In the end, he just closed his eyes and willed away even the fragments of thought, seeking that elusive peace that he had felt in Ryuzaki's hotel so long ago, that time he had first contemplated dying.

* * *

The sky was full of slate gray clouds, heavy with the promise of rain and flickering in places with the very real threat of lightning. A near-constant roll of thunder punctured occasionally by bass rumbling thrummed in Light's ears and made the marrow of his bones itch with the vibration. The wind was only slightly louder, roaring around buildings and occasionally escalating into a shrieking howl, as though the hounds of hell lingered just out of sight around the corners.

He was at the NPA headquarters, standing before the large picture window that faced the streets on the second floor. His hair was in its usual flawless style, hovering barely in his eyes and framing his face perfectly, and he wore his best suit, one such a dark brown that it appeared black from a distance. His feet were slightly apart, his arms hanging at his sides, and he faced the window head on, staring through it into the streets that were strangely devoid of traffic. Instead of cars or people, trash blew through the darkened streets, pieces of paper and leaves hurled against buildings with violent force.

The imminent storm coupled with the emptiness of the streets below was mildly disturbing, and he turned away from the sight of it to go to his desk before it registered that the building was dark. The only light came from the window behind him, which left only fuzzy outlines of doorways visible in the distance. Not even the elevator's lights were lit. Perhaps the power had gone out? Where was everyone else?

He started to walk forward, but a much louder blast of wind screaming through the streets made him look back in time to see lightning streak ominously across the sky. He could see the window before him bow inward with the force of the wind, and even the building seemed to vibrate slightly, the floor under him trembling. Stepping backward blindly, he could not tear his eyes away from the glass that flexed as though it was mere plastic. His heart started to race at the strangeness of the whole situation.

Then the window blew inward, and the explosion shattered his eerily calm demeanor as tiny missiles were flung toward him, the scream of breaking glass ringing in his ears.

He threw up his arms to protect his eyes, and the shriek of tearing metal sounded all around him, the building itself ripping apart like wet newspaper as a peal of thunder rocked the very earth. Glass shards scraped his arms and nicked the unprotected parts of his face and neck. The sting of pain made him open eyes he hadn't remembered closing to see that the building was... gone. Completely. Not a brick of the foundation stood, only the skeletal remains of other buildings farther away. He still stood, but there was only bare earth beneath his shoes.

A wasteland surrounded him, dirt and rocks stretching as far as the eye could see. The sky still rolled with thunder, a bass drum rising to an ear-splitting crescendo and fading away, and the lightning stopped merely flickering and starting reaching fingers toward the scorched earth, like a child tentatively touching a hot stove to see whether or not it's hot. The blackening clouds roiled in the heavens, and a rushing hiss in the distance that escalated sharply was the only warning he had before the clouds burst.

The dust beneath him turned to mud almost instantly as the rain pounded into it, and he slipped, his dress shoes hardly suitable for traction. One foot skidded out from under him and he fell to his hands and knees, small stones puncturing his hands and tearing the knees of his trousers. He didn't give them a second thought, though, for one foot was hanging over emptiness. He crawled forward frantically before finally looking behind him.

It was a cliff. He hadn't turned before the cloudburst to see that there was nothing behind him, only a vast emptiness beyond a sharp dropoff, just like his imagination had described his future earlier that night.

So this was a dream.

The knowledge did nothing for him, however, for it still felt very real as the frigid rain striking him with the force of pebbles soaked through his suit immediately and made movement very difficult. His head was being pelted with the droplets, his hair obscuring his eyes before he raked it back with a bleeding hand. He wanted to put more distance between himself and that cliff, but it was like a magnet drawing him. Cursing his own curiosity, he crawled forward, his clothes already ruined and no longer worth contemplating. His filthy hands clutched the rocks describing the precipice and he knelt carefully, trying to keep his center of gravity away from the edge.

The cliff fell seemingly forever. There was no other side to this chasm, only a dropoff that stretched farther than he could see. Clouds or patches of fog seemed to obscure the bottom of this nothingness, and the rain streaming down made it very difficult to gauge distance. He had to blink frequently to keep all the water out of his eyes, but it was no use.

A different rumble met his ears and the ground trembled beneath him. He threw himself backwards, fearing that the cliff was going to disintegrate in the rain. His sodden hair half-blinded him, but he didn't need to see to scramble backward in clothes that weighed twice what they should and hampered his every movement. His breathing escalated sharply as the ground shifted, his heart pounding now while he scrabbled through mud and dirt, his eyes fixed on the danger before him.

Lightning struck the edge of the cliff, burning his eyes blind with a white that was actually a riot of color, and the simultaneous crash of thunder obliterated even the memory of hearing. It was a physical force, a giant's hands clapping, and he was flung backwards like a rag doll, striking the ground bonelessly.

It seemed an eternity before he came to. Dazed, he blinked, glowing purple and black spiders crawling across his vision as the landscape swam in and out of focus. There was no sound, only a distant ringing in his ears like tiny bells. He lay on his stomach again, his face half-submerged in a puddle as the forgotten rain pounded into him.

Trembles ran through the ground, and he had the impression that his head was starting to sink as the puddle drained away.

Too late, he looked up to see that the ground a few feet before him had vanished and the fissures in the earth were reaching for him. He couldn't move, only stare in numb horror as the cliff disintegrated, the fragments of rock coming apart before his eyes leaving only empty air and a terrible, unending drop below his head. He overbalanced, and his body slid forward, gravity dragging him into the nothingness along with the tumbling rubble around him.

Air rushed by him with enough force to steal his breath away as he plummeted headfirst into the clouds below, the raindrops seemingly suspended in the air around him as he fell. It was like trying to breathe while leaning out of a bullet train, the air going by so quickly that it wouldn't go into his aching lungs. His eyes found nothing, no end to the plunge. His heart hammered so hard in his chest that he was sure he would die of a heart attack before even hitting the ground. The lack of oxygen made him light-headed as his speed continued to increase. His fingers went icy cold, then completely numb, as the rushing air took all the warmth away from them. He could see the blue-gray color of his hands and forearms through the rents in his clothing, but even that grew harder to see as his eyes dried out despite all his blinking.

Suddenly, a vast expanse of brown and green opened before him, blinking into existence so suddenly that it frightened him as the clouds vanished. There was no time for recognition before he plunged headfirst into frigid water.

Some survival instinct spurred him to thrash and turn himself right-side up despite the shock that wanted to set in. He kicked hard to bring himself to the surface, which he could barely see as a lighter patch of gray through the murk that abraded his eyes. It felt as though dirt was being rubbed into them. That first gasp of air was like water after a walk through the desert; his lungs burned from the lack of it.

He sank back into the water and cast his eyes about frantically. How he hadn't died from the impact was beyond contemplation, all he had time to do now was find a way out of this...

...this _swamp_.

It was his uncertainty given horrible, realistic life. Again, there was the flash of knowledge that this was a dream, that this couldn't possibly be real, but it was gone at the first brush of some unknown thing lurking under the surface against his kicking feet.

Light tried to tread water, but his clothes made it difficult as they swirled around his legs and made him swim in slow motion. The weight of them was dragging him under as he sucked in a mouthful of water and choked, his throat aching when his breathing grew frantic with fear. He kicked off his shoes and attempted to worm his way out of his jacket, but after his head went completely under as he fought, he focused on just keeping afloat.

The sky seemed so much farther away than it had before, the storm no longer close and threatening, and the rain had abated. It only slightly disturbed the surface of the water black with reeds and floating bracken. Huge patches of green slime floated around him, breaking up the monotony of the water's surface. It stank with the smell of rot, and he tried not to gag as his hands pawed through the stinking mess as he stroked in some direction, any direction. His arms brushed by pieces of wood, plant leaves and any number of things choking the water and making it black around him.

There was nothing around him other than more swamp, and he bit back the disgust at the filthy things he was unknowingly touching. He had never been more than slightly dirty in his life, and this was unbearable. He could feel a keening of horror rising in the back of his throat and tried not to let it escape for fear that he would be too afraid to keep swimming.

Strangely warm currents snaked through the relative iciness of the water. He had to force himself not to think about what he was swimming through and what might be in this water to cause those currents. His feet brushed something once, then again. Was it ground?

He stopped kicking and just used his arms to stay afloat as he tested the surface below him with one outstretched foot to see if it was solid ground. Soft clay squished around his sock-covered toes, but there was nothing solid there, only denser mud. His own weight forced him deeper into it. He kicked to no avail; it was sucking him down, hampering his ability to swim more than the plant-choked water ever had. Panic seized him as he started to kick mindlessly, tiring himself out as he tried to escape the mire.

Water went up his nose as he went half-under again, and he choked at the burning in his nose and throat. He looked straight up at the sky to keep as much of his face out of the murk as possible, coughs wracking his body and making it harder to swim. His arms and legs were burning with the effort, and soon they would give out on him and drag him under. He tried to swim forward, but it was like the mud had seized hold of his legs and would not let go.

A scream of panic tore itself out of his throat. His gasps for air made him choke on more water, and he coughed violently, tears squeezed out of his eyes with fright.

" _Help!_ " he screamed in a voice raw with terror, putting every ounce of strength he had into it. "Help me! _Anybody!_ " His heart pounded from exertion and his limbs were starting to tingle instead of burn, the feeling draining out of them. Light had been a good swimmer in his youth, but he was long out of practice and growing weary.

 _I'm going to die here,_ he thought with sudden clarity.

"Light?"

His head whipped toward the voice only to find it above him, right in front of him, in fact. His father knelt atop an outcropping of rock that had _not_ been there a moment ago. His face was twisted with worry as he leaned over the edge of the rock, which hung out over the water high enough that Light could not reach it or swim toward the base of it.

"Dad?" he half-shouted in mingled fear and relief, hardly able to believe his eyes. The comforting reality of his father looked so out of place in this hellish landscape.

"Light! Give me your hand!" His father leaned over as far as he could, reaching out for Light's flailing arms, which were growing weary from effort.

"Dad!" Light called again, frantic. One arm shot out of the water, and the brightness of it against the darkness around him stung him. He was looking at bared skin, not the jacket he had just been wearing.

_What?!_

He realized then that both arms were bare, his watch and suit jacket and dress shirt all gone. His teeth clenched fiercely as he felt that the cold swirled with warmth that caressed his legs and feet was unimpeded as well. The soft mud he was churning up was around his knees, every inch of his skin sliding through decayed swamp filth and fine clay and occasionally tangling in some long frond of plant root.

Nausea crawled through him, followed by new panic at how shamefully exposed he was, and he jerked his hand back unthinkingly. It was unconscious, this desire to hide himself even from his father. There was something around his throat now, a heavy piece of sodden cloth that half-strangled him with its weight. It was tangling in his legs, and one arm caught as well as he thrashed in the water.

"Light! Take my hand!" his father shouted, leaning even further over the ledge, straining to reach him. " _Give me your hand!_ "

Light felt panic-stricken tears sting his eyes as the fabric around his neck cut off his air when his own frantically kicking legs pulled it taut across his throat. The only sound that escaped was a choked-off whimper as his head went under again, the frigidity slamming into his skull like a blow to the head.

" ** _Light!"_** he thought he heard as silence descended with frightening swiftness, muffling even the sound of his gasps for air. He unwittingly sucked bracken-laden water into his open mouth, his nose, and the swamp's cold fingers followed the path down his throat to his lungs which seized at the foreign entity, once, twice, then stopped, a chilling numbness stopping his limbs from fighting any more. His wide eyes stared in shocked silence as the gray surface visible from below winked out of existence.

* * *

He was drowning.

Light came awake with a scream trying to work its way out of his tense vocal cords. His blankets were smothering him, and he clawed them out of his way while he clenched his teeth to keep from screaming.

He lay gasping as soon as the blankets were gone, his lungs heaving with effort and sweat sparkling on his skin. His head felt so hot, but he felt cold everywhere else. He sat up slowly, reality and the dream world clashing violently in his mind as he tried to figure out where he was.

He was terrified of dying, his heart slamming blood through his veins so hard that he thought he could bleed to death from a pinprick. He gulped, trying to slow his breathing as fragments of the nightmare flitted through his memory, becoming more disjointed and nonsensical the more he tried to hang onto them.

His eyes darted toward the window, but there was no storm outside and he was in his room, not the NPA. His pajamas were still on him, and he was dry except for the perspiration covering his shaking body. With his memories already fading, he couldn't figure out why that made him so relieved.

When his heart stopped racing, he fell backwards against his pillows, breathing deeply while he tried to sort out his thoughts. It was no use; the dream was gone, all the details slipping through his fingers like sand.

If this was typical of those sleeping pills, he wasn't taking any more again. He hadn't had a nightmare that vivid since... well, _ever_. At least the memories were gone. It was probably for the better.

Since dreams didn't mean anything, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also hope no one was turned off by a potentially cliché dream sequence, but I did love writing it so. "Lux Aeterna", in its entirety, makes me think of impending doom or something ominous and inescapable chasing after someone, especially with the rising volume.
> 
> All the nasty details of swamps and skydiving were taken from real life. Glad I had those experiences for something. :D


	15. Endings

Wammy walked back into the hotel room after dropping Light off and found the living room empty. His eyes caught the Häagen-Dazs carton next to the sofa that faced away from him, the spoon still sticking out of the empty container. To his amusement, he realized the room was not empty, for a shock of black hair barely showed on the sofa's arm above the ice cream. He walked around the sofa as quietly as he could and was rewarded with the sight of L, curled into the fetal position and leaning against the sofa's arm. The ravages of the day were gone from his sleeping features. It made him look 10 years younger even though he didn't look old as it was; the simple act of closing those wide eyes was enough to make him look a child again.

World-famous detective he might be, but L was first and foremost a son to him.

After all, he couldn't have any of his own anymore. His wife had died miscarrying their only child, leaving Wammy suddenly alone when he had been looking forward to being a father. She had come from a wealthy family, and her death put her fortune in his hands instead of a child. Grief-stricken, he had put most of the money into his burgeoning business and invested the rest, having no desire to spend it on things. In a year, he had more money than he knew what to do with since he worked from dawn until dusk to avoid thinking about her.

The idea came to him on the anniversary of her death, when he stood at her grave site with a single white rose for her. His eyes were fixated on "Son," which was all that was written under her name on the tombstone in memory of the little one who had died nameless. He knew he had no desire to marry again, wanting to keep her memory alive rather than taking another in her place, but the child he had never known. He saw their son's face superimposed over the children in the orphanage he donated to in London, wondering if he would have looked like any of them.

Then it hit him. He could offer a home to any children who were in the opposite situation, living without parents or family. There was no sense in mourning a family that was gone when there were still children to be looked after. It only took a moment to make the decision, and when he laid the rose on his wife's gravestone, he let her know that he had found a use for the money.

He went straight home and contacted his college friend Roger, setting up all the details that very night, and within a month, he commissioned the building of the first orphanage in Winchester, naming it Wammy House. He intended to raise all the children he could in memory of the ones he and his wife would never have.

It was an amazing success, and several more were built within the next 10 years with the earnings from his business as well as donations. It was a labor of love for him. He loved every child that came through those doors in his own way, but over the years, he had developed a fondness for the most promising and intelligent child he had ever met.

 _L_. He was his favorite. L knew this too, even if he never mentioned it.

Smiling at the memories, Wammy picked up the empty carton and took it into the kitchen, cleaning up briefly before returning to L and taking a throw from the sofa's back. The boy hadn't moved, but when Wammy lifted the light blanket to put it over him, those dark eyes opened, instantly aware of his surroundings.

"I did think about it, Watari." Depthless eyes blinked. "I haven't changed my mind. I think Light will not take my help because he is too proud, but I did as you asked." His eyes slid to the windows, no longer looking into Wammy's own.

"Thank you," Wammy said, unhappy but refusing to show it. L closed his eyes again, and he put the throw over him since L was as likely to sleep out here as in his room.

L was nothing if not stubborn, and he could not be forced to change his mind. Strangely enough, it was another way that his treatment of L and Light was similar; he couldn't push either of them since they were so proud. He could only encourage very gently since he was not skilled enough to manipulate either without them realizing it.

It was frustrating working with such smart children sometimes.

* * *

L slept for another two hours and popped back awake, uncurling from the ball he had curled into. After standing and cracking his spine a few times, he went into the kitchen and flicked on the coffeepot, which Wammy had left full of water and grounds just waiting for him to turn it on. His cup sat beside it along with a bowl of sugar cubes, which he sampled as the coffee brewed.

The time for actual sleep would have to be put off again, since he knew he was only inches away from cracking the case that he had come to Japan to investigate. All the business with Light had been a very necessary distraction since he didn't know if he would meet such a likely candidate in the near future, but it was time to get back to work now that the interview was out of the way.

Work was an excellent distraction from unwelcome thoughts, after all, especially ones that centered around failure. Aizawa and Matsuda had gone back to several of the crime scenes and taken more notes and photos at his request on Friday. The stoic Aizawa complained often and vehemently about having to work with Matsuda, who could be flighty and excitable, but the two worked well together. Matsuda made the seemingly preposterous connections that a good observer like Aizawa might censor before ever voicing them. L had gone over the evidence briefly already, but he knew if he went over it again, he would find that elusive bit of information that would convict Kurou Otaharada, the man he had suspected from the start. The law was sometimes frustrating because even if he knew who the perpetrator was, justice could not be done until he proved his suspicions to the legal system. His instincts alone were not good enough for everyone else.

That was what made his job interesting, though. He had to find the evidence to back up his claims, no matter how difficult it was to find, oftentimes working through proxies if it was impossible for him to get close to a crime scene without revealing his identity. His paranoia about showing his face in public had lessened in recent years to the point that he was not afraid to walk around in the city streets, but he still had no desire to allow people to make the connection between his face and his reputation as L. No one would take him seriously if they saw him in person, after all. He was too young and too unprofessional-looking, but he didn't care. That was what Watari was for, to handle the face-to-face interactions.

Maybe Light too, if he had taken him up on the offer, but now he would never know. He poured the steaming coffee into his cup, inhaling the rich odor and dropping in a fair amount of sugar before heading back to the coffee table, spreading out his notes again in preparation for more hours of study. He felt his mouth curl up into a slight smile as he anticipated having this case finally solved by Monday.

* * *

Sunday dawned with the beginnings of a headache, again. Light swam up with difficulty out of drowsy slumber, as always annoyed at the lingering sleepiness from taking those pills. Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, he wondered if there were ever times when his mind was idle that he did _not_ have a headache. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and just rested his elbows on his knees as he massaged his temples.

He was still so tired, but he couldn't actually sleep any more. His body felt like he was dragging weights behind him as he stood and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. The person that stared back at him looked exhausted and sick. Where had the exuberant-looking, sharply-dressed college graduate gone? Who was this tired old man in his pajamas who stood in his place?

The Tylenol in the cabinet behind the mirror found its way into his hands and he took several, mindlessly putting them back and shuffling drowsily from the room. He went back into his room, lay down on the bed, and buried his face in the pillow, hoping by some miracle to fall back asleep. He really didn't want to be awake anymore, because just facing the day was so depressing.

A knock on his door an indeterminate time later woke him from a light doze.

"Light?" his mother called, her voice sounding concerned.

"You can come in, mother," he said, sitting up and finger-combing his hair into place. She opened the door just enough to poke her head in, her face a mixture of cheerfulness and concern.

"I made breakfast, and I was going to put yours into the refrigerator if you weren't hungry yet."

"I'll be down in a moment."

"Are you still feeling sick?"

"No, I think the cold has gone away. I just didn't sleep very well last night." Another slip. If he wasn't careful, soon he'd be confessing that he had been contemplating how to best kill himself while intoxicated on Friday night.

"Well, there's coffee ready too whenever you get downstairs. Maybe that will make you feel better."

"I hope so." He smiled a little, which she returned before closing the door. After she left, his expression melted back to its usual unfeeling blank slate. Maybe getting up and eating something would help him shake this lethargy that made him want to do little else besides lie in his bed.

When he had been sick just a few days ago, he had been trapped in bed and in his room, wanting little more than to escape and think about something else. Now, however, he had no desire to go anywhere, just wanting to close his eyes and hope the world went away.

Everything about him was a contradiction. He was sick of it.

* * *

A few hours later, Light found himself strolling down the city streets in the midst of a gray day. It wasn't going to rain, but the sun was hidden behind an impenetrable cover of clouds. It didn't help his mood. He had eaten breakfast despite the fact that he had no appetite and drank inordinate amounts of coffee to try and inject _some_ energy into him. All he was really doing was making himself sick to his stomach. His father had joked that he would be well-suited to detective work with that kind of addiction to coffee. Light had said something about practicing for his first day of real police work tomorrow, and they had laughed.

He was looking for apartments, for it was the only thing that presented itself as a project to his listless mind. Since it was Sunday, there was little he could do other than take notes on the listings over the internet and inspect the buildings from the outside, but he had to be doing _something_. Riding the train to the various areas or walking there on foot was more interesting than staring at the textbooks in his room.

Most of the locations he had taken notes on were relatively close to NPA headquarters, since he hoped to avoid riding the trains and simply walk to work, though he would use the trains long before buying a car and driving himself. His parents had long ago offered to make the down payment on his apartment since he had no money to his name yet. After his first paycheck, however, he would be responsible for all his bills since his salary was more than enough to support himself. He had no college loans since he had gone on scholarship, after all, so all the money he earned would be his own. Hopefully being "independent" would keep his mind occupied, since he would have to think about bills, laundry, cleaning, and cooking for himself... so many things he had only done when it interested him, if at all, in the past.

He hadn't even decided if he wanted a furnished or unfurnished apartment. His salary was high enough to allow him the choice. He knew he had so many wonderful things going for him, but when he felt nothing, no pride, no sense of accomplishment, it was all worthless. It was a fact of life, that was all, and one not worth dwelling on.

He had been taking notes on each place, the facilities and the proximity to train stations as well as the headquarters, just to keep doing something. When he realized it was early evening and he had eaten nothing except breakfast, he ducked into a small cafe for a late lunch. As he waited for his food to arrive, he sipped at a cup of tea since the smell of coffee was nauseating to him after all that he had already drank that day. He went over his notes on the apartments and scribbled a few more details, basically trying to stay busy since doing nothing made him incredibly tired. After breakfast, he had gone back to his room and felt overwhelmed with sudden fatigue and an unusual melancholy. His depression had thus far made him tired and apathetic rather than exhausted, and he didn't like the change. Keeping his mind occupied kept the feeling at bay, though, so he just had to stay busy.

He pulled out his wallet, remembering that he had placed a piece of paper torn from the bottom of a flyer in there earlier that afternoon. A business card fell out along with the scrap of paper, and he stared at it, his attention caught like a fish on a hook.

It was Watari's number, nothing else, but something about it made him set down everything and just look at it.

His thoughts rewound to the crazy dinner and interrogation he had gone through last night. Ryuzaki had claimed he would give him the challenge he craved, which was interesting even if the man himself was a brusque, rude social pariah lacking any semblance of respect for privacy. He could potentially overlook those faults if the job he was offering kept him from feeling so useless and disconnected from reality, but...

But...the card stared at him.

There was no reason he could not call Watari, who was far more refined and socially skilled than his master or employer or whatever Ryuzaki was to him. He could certainly tolerate working with the grandfatherly older man. He had his number, as well as Watari's assurance that he would pick up whenever Light called. He truly wanted Light to find purpose in his life; he had read that much into Watari's words in the car.

But...

He couldn't. He picked the card up, his eyes never leaving the name and number printed on that field of white, before placing it back in his wallet. The waitress appearing at his side with the meal broke the spell, and the card was forgotten about as Light started to eat, sifting through his notes as he did so.

The rest of the day passed in calm contemplation of more buildings as well as a stop to a bookstore, where he disinterestedly looked through magazines and books. He didn't really have any interest in buying them, but the feel of things in his hands was welcome. He made his way home in time to have dinner with his family, though he wasn't really hungry then either due to his late lunch. He talked about nothing of substance and shrugged off any indication that he was feeling less than perfect, unwilling to have to explain anything to his family. Someday he might tell them that something was wrong, but now wasn't the time. He had work to get ready for and an apartment to move into in the near future. His mental issues could wait.

That night, Light repeated the ritual he had inadvertently started that afternoon as he took the items out of his pockets and placed them on his desk in preparation for getting ready for bed. His outfit for tomorrow was already ironed and hanging outside his closet, waiting for him to don it for his first day of police work. The day would probably be filled with paperwork and training, but it was his first day nonetheless, and he wanted to look good.

He set down his wallet, then picked it back up and pulled Watari's card partway out of it. The numbers glared at him, and he stared back for a few moments, no definite thoughts running through his mind but contemplating the card nonetheless. Then he pushed it back into his wallet, set it down, and starting getting ready for bed.

* * *

"Watari." L deadpanned, stacking papers on the coffee table and pushing the remnants of the dessert that passed for his dinner out of the way. He was getting his notes ready to be destroyed since his actual reports were on the computer now, and he no longer needed all of his handwritten notes. The graphs he had made would look better to the NPA than his scribbles anyway.

"Yes?" Wammy leaned out of the kitchen. He was getting another pot of coffee ready for L in case he wanted to pull an all-nighter since it was time for him to be getting to bed.

"I have compiled all of the evidence for the NPA. Please take it to them first thing in the morning." He glanced out the window at the twinkling city lights, smiling slightly at his sense of accomplishment. "Tomorrow will be the last day I'll speak to the NPA's task force."

He took the pile of documents and notes to the machine sitting in the corner of the room, where they would be shredded before being taken to an incinerator in the morning.

"Their case is solved, and my work here is done."


	16. Drain

The start of Light's life as a working member of Japanese society dawned clear and bright. He was no longer a student, no longer a child that was free to ignore the reality of working class life and revel in the fact that someone else was looking after him. He was an adult, a contributor to society rather than a drain on it.

It didn't feel any different, though.

He woke early, showering and dressing in the suit he had chosen last night. He gave himself a quick once-over in the mirror, making sure there were no wrinkles in the gray suit out of habit more than actual concern for looking good. To his mild consternation, his sister was awake unusually early for a college student, and she had a camera ready at the bottom of the stairs when he left his room.

"Sayu, is this really necessary?" he grumbled in false discomfort, directing his eyes at the wall instead of the camera.

"Yep! Mom wanted me to take it since she's in the kitchen. It's your first day as a police officer!" She was all smiles even so early, and if Light had any nerves left to fray, he probably would have been annoyed.

"Agent, I'm a police agent, not technically an officer," he corrected, patting his hip to show her where a gun would have been if he was an officer. "Officers have been to Academy. I'm just an agent, a contractor if you will."

"Still, you're a policeman, it's important." She beamed at him, blocking his way down the stairs. "Now, smile. You look miserable."

_Probably because I am._ Light glanced at her. Sayu could be perceptive, but with Light's longstanding habit of presenting himself as the perfect son, she wouldn't acknowledge her observations as truth. The corner of his mouth turned up in mild amusement. If his family had the sense to go with their gut instincts, they'd know exactly what was wrong with him. So far, they'd put all the pieces together, but they couldn't believe it was correct, so they threw all the evidence out and let him be.

"I haven't had any caffeine yet. I'm not awake." Light offered a weak excuse for his lack of enthusiasm.

"Mom's got it ready for you and Dad already. Maybe you need some espresso, though." Sayu spoke from behind the camera as she snapped the picture, checking the preview on the camera before nodding and turning it to show him.

"You look a little goofy, but it'll do." He stood there, frozen on the screen, a half-smile making him look almost sheepish in his carefully pressed suit. If he cared, he might ask her to take another, but almost everything was inconsequential at this point. "It's more authentic, anyway, than having you stare at the camera and pose."

Light nodded, already only half-listening. It was like he could feel his mind slowing down, the gears grinding to a halt and the strange weariness washing over him with surprising swiftness. If he hadn't already spent so much time in bed, he might say that he was sick and go back to sleep.

Instead, he decided to self-medicate with caffeine when Sayu let him pass on the stairs, heading to the kitchen with single-minded determination, the eyes that were rapidly going out of focus fixed on the coffeepot.

"Good morning, mother," he made himself say as he poured a cup of coffee. She said hello over her shoulder, still working on something at the stove, and he tipped the scalding brew back, effectively killing any ability he would have to taste that morning with a few swallows of it.

"Light!" Sachiko scolded. "At least put some cream in that before you burn yourself."

_Too late_. His mother must have eyes in the back of her head. He kept his mouth slightly open to alleviate the burning as he added milk to his drink. The fatigue had been beaten back slightly with that assault, and he could feel his head starting to clear. It was worth the pain to have a less cobwebby head as his mother invited him and Sayu to get their breakfast.

His father joined them in only a few more minutes, for he was usually early to leave for work in case there were traffic jams. He ruffled Sayu's hair, greeted Light, and kissed Sachiko all before getting his own breakfast and meeting them at the table.

"It's your first day, Light. How do you feel?" Usually Sachiko prohibited talk about work at the table, but this was safe enough for Soichiro to discuss.

"Ready to get going," Light answered honestly. He was ready to see if working would do anything to get rid of this lethargy and apathy.

"I bet, after you were sick so long." Sayu agreed. "You'll have to tell us how your first day goes."

"Sure thing." Light sincerely hoped there would be something to tell and that the day would not be full of tedium.

After that, conversation shifted to what classes Sayu was taking over the summer and Light was free to stop thinking and just finish his food. He couldn't shake the feeling that nothing was going to change and he was going to be stuck with this dreary, listless feeling until he finally died.

Just because he was no longer suicidal didn't mean he had any will to live, after all. There was a difference between actively planning his death and just waiting for life to finish him off, put him out of his misery.

* * *

Upon arriving at the NPA Headquarters and saying goodbye to his father, Light dropped off his personal belongings in the lockers in the break room since he couldn't have his cell phone in the secure workspaces. Adjusting his tie, he left the room and headed for the security desk in front of the doors that separated the classified work areas from the rest of the building.

" _Yagami-kun!"_ He winced as he heard his name called. The exuberant greeting was even worse than being met with a camera wielded by his sister first thing in the morning. He was being haled by someone who was easily the most juvenile member of the NPA. The man that rushed toward him might be 8 years his senior, but his ridiculously carefree attitude made him seem younger than Sayu, and Light braced inwardly to greet him.

"Touta-san, good morning." He couldn't muster any enthusiasm in response to that salutation and just waited for the man to reach him.

"Psh, no one calls me that. It's just Matsuda," he threw out in a rush, slowing as he reached Light, his face alight with child-like energy. "It's great to finally have you on the inside. You on your way to get your badge?" he pulled his own away from his jacket, and Light nodded. He had to get his badge from the security desk before he would even be able to go into his work area, since the intelligence department had all of its offices in the secure area.

It seemed Matsuda wasn't done with him yet, though, for the older man leaned against the desk while Light signed the paperwork for his badge, obviously waiting to accompany him.

"You looking forward to your first day?" Light was actually started to get annoyed now at being asked that, for it was the fifth or sixth time since waking up that he had been questioned. He and his father had met other officers on the way in, and Light's face and reputation was already well-known.

"As much as I can look forward to paperwork." Perhaps there was a touch of annoyance in his tone, but it went right over Matsuda's head.

"It'll be like that for the first few days, not forever." He stood up from the counter as Light took his badge and moved to the doors. Matsuda entered first, swiping his combination badge and keycard before entering his code and waiting for Light to do the same from the other side of the door. "It's a shame you couldn't get here sooner, though," Matsuda continued, falling into step beside Light. He leaned in conspiratorially and dropped his voice. "I mean, L is working with the NPA after all. I'm sure you'd be good enough to get on his team, if only you didn't have to inprocess first."

" _Eru?_ Who's that?" The name, if it was one, meant nothing to him, and surely his disinterested tone conveyed that. Matsuda looked comically shocked out of the corner of his eye.

"You don't _know?_ Well, I guess I was the same way at first, too." Matsuda launched into explanation-mode, sounding like a teacher lecturing a student. "L is the world's greatest detective. He works with agencies the world over on the most difficult, unsolvable cases. No one can get in touch with him, though, since he only takes jobs he's interested in. He's never failed to solve a case, either."

"And he's here?" Despite that sounding almost interesting to have someone so prestigious working at the NPA, if it wasn't going to save him from dull paperwork, he really didn't care that much.

"Well, not in person, but he's working with us. No one knows what he looks like because we never _see_ him, and he only speaks with our team, the same one your father is on."

"So he talks with you over the phone or something?"

"No, he has an agent who speaks for him. He's really intense, Yagami-kun. I think you'd like working with him."

"Intense? That explains my father's late nights."

"He runs us pretty ragged," Matsuda laughed humorlessly, running the hand that wasn't holding 20 ounces of black coffee through his hair.

"Are you going to see him now?" Maybe this was pointed enough to get Matsuda to give him a few moments' peace.

"Yeah, he briefs us first thing in the morning." Matsuda checked his watch and stepped away from Light to go down a different hall. "I've gotta get going. See ya later, Yagami-kun!" Light waved a little in false cheer. He didn't dislike Matsuda; he was just too much this early in the morning. Or at any time of day, really. He could handle him in small doses, in company, but one-on-one interaction was a little draining right now.

When he glanced up at the offices around him, noting the numbers and names, he was annoyed to find he had been distracted enough to walk right past the hall that he was supposed to take. Turning, he was even further annoyed to see that his destination was the same hall that Matsuda had used. He waited, giving the older officer enough time to get inside whatever room he was going to for he was reluctant to meet him again.

Now there were people behind him in the hall, and he held his paperwork before him, pretending to study it while they walked closer to give him an excuse to wait. It was two men, one a security escort and the other clearly a visitor. He was taller than Light and gave off an air of being much larger than he was, for he wore a hat pulled low over his face and a voluminous trenchcoat with the collar turned up, effectively concealing both his form and his face from scrutiny. He carried a briefcase in one gloved hand, the other buried within his pocket.

It was strange enough a sight that Light watched him approach, lowering his eyes out of politeness when they drew closer. Deciding that Matsuda had enough time to clear out, he lowered his papers and walked down the hall, looking for the office where the head of the intelligence department worked.

The soft swish of the trenchcoat was the only sign that the men were following him down the same hall, and Light felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he walked in front of them. It wasn't danger-sense so much as the feeling that he was being stared at, and he glanced back momentarily. The security guard met his glance briefly before looking straight forward again, giving Light the impression that he should mind his own business.

* * *

As he knocked on the intelligence director's door and the men continued past him, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was still being watched.

Wammy closed the door behind him, dismissing the security guard that had accompanied him. Seeing Light this morning was an unexpected surprise, but the new agent looked fine. He would never guess this was the same young man with a death wish that L had interviewed the other night. He wished he could say something more to Light to encourage him to take L's job, for it was the only way he could ensure that Light wouldn't do anything rash, but the window was gone. It was up to Light to take any further steps.

He flipped open the laptop, setting up the camera as the officers around him wrapped up their conversations and settled down. His role at this point in the game was minimal, merely setting up equipment before connecting via satellite to L, who unbeknownst to the NPA was only a few miles away in a penthouse suite. When L began investigations, "Watari's" role was much larger, for he had to go in and open negotiations with the agencies involved and do much more speaking to form a team, collect background checks and personal information, and arrange meetings. He had a microphone that amplified and deepened his own voice right next to his mouth. All he had to do was speak quietly and the microphone would pick it up and make it sound like a normal human voice rather than garbling it like L's did.

Technology was a fascinating thing, he thought as he established the connection and stood back, leaning against the wall and folding his arms as L's modulated voice carried over the speakers. The fact that he, L, and more recently Matt had created most of this equipment gave him a bit of pride to be using it.

He watched the NPA members' faces as L detailed the case, explaining exactly how he had arrived at his conclusions and giving clear-cut evidence for his claims. Watari had a thumb drive with the evidence on it to deliver to Yagami Soichiro, the head of the team, when this was over. L's role in this was only to solve the case; it was up to the NPA to capture the criminal if he was on the streets or to convict him in court if he was already in jail, and ultimately send him to prison or execution. Whatever was decided, L was pulling out today, and tomorrow would probably see them both back in England.

After Wammy handed over the thumb drive, for he and L couldn't access the NPA's network from the outside in good conscience even if Matt could hack into anything, L dismissed the rest of the team. Soichiro waited to see if L had anything more for him before the garbled voice spoke.

"Yagami-san, despite my earlier intention to administer tests to your son, solving the case necessitates pulling my resources out of Japan. The circumstances will not allow me to interview him."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Soichiro replied, his expression only slightly downcast. He had his image to maintain as a police chief after all, regardless of his concern for his son. "Is there any chance in the future that he could be interviewed?"

"If work brings me back to Japan, it is possible. We thank you for all your hard work, Yagami-san. Please convey our appreciation to the rest of the team." The thanks effectively closed the discussion of Light's future, and Wammy moved to start packing up the laptop and peripherals.

"It is we who should be thanking you, L, Watari. Farewell to you both." L closed the connection in response to Soichiro's statement, his blunt personality not overly concerned with politeness, and Wammy said goodbye for his socially maladjusted protégé, unplugging the speakers and shutting the computer down.

Soichiro let out a sigh, glancing down at the thumb drive before moving to the door. "I'll send for your escort."

"Thank you." Again, he wished the phone in his pocket would vibrate with Light's call, but the young man couldn't even carry a phone in this area, so it was hopeless. Only Watari could carry a phone with impunity anywhere in the world, for no one would search someone working for L. Perhaps in time…

* * *

Light was finally shown to his desk at the very end of the day. It was one of many desks in a wide open room with only half-height cubicles separating the workspaces from each other. He supposed that this was so agents could see each other while seated, at the same time giving them the impression that they had their own areas. He didn't think he would like the setup and would forever feel as though he was being watched. Higher-ranking agents and officers had their own offices along the outer walls, and hard work could certainly get him an office inside a year, given his credentials.

However, he didn't know if he had the energy or the drive to do that anymore. Instead, he sat at his desk and took stock of the furnishings. Flat panel monitor, keyboard, phones that connected him to other agents inside the secure area as well as one that only connected to the outside, pens and pencils, notepads, locked cabinets and drawers: essentially basic, plain things every agent would need. It was up to him to decorate or personalize the space however he saw fit. If he ever saw fit.

He had spent the entire day meeting supervisors and coworkers, watching videos on the history of the NPA as well as day-to-day operations, filling out paperwork, and setting up his training schedule. According to his schedule, it would be a few months before he would even be left alone at his desk. He could and would change that with a little effort, for anything less than cram-course level instruction was a waste of his time, and he would be sure his trainers and coworkers knew that.

He hadn't been wrong this morning. Nothing felt any different. He stared blankly at the slim folder carrying his documents on top of his desk as his thoughts fuzzed out of coherence. His father offered to drive him home today, so he was waiting around for him to wrap things up. He could investigate his computer in the meantime, but his fingers wouldn't leave the desk and reach for the keys. The dim sounds of people saying goodbye to each other at the end of the day floated over his head.

Belatedly, he recalled that he should be getting his apartment listings out so he could look at them today and speak to the managers, but he didn't move. He could step outside the building and call his sister to tell her how his day was even if he had nothing really interesting to say.

_Hell,_ he could get Watari's number out of his wallet and call him and scream for help as he felt himself growing so tired, the energy draining out of him as though he was bleeding to death.

But he did nothing. Everything took too much effort, so he stared off into the distance and waited for his father to drop by and say it was time to go.

* * *

"He looks so serious," Aizawa commented to Soichiro as they entered the workspace for junior agents and officers. Aizawa Shuichi was Soichiro's second in command on his usual team of officers, and he and Aizawa had just wrapped up contacting the people necessary to have Kurou Otaharada jailed until his trial.

"He's always been that way," Soichiro said offhandedly, but Aizawa was right to notice that Light looked unusually so as they approached his desk. His face was expressionless, his eyes distant as he sat unmoving. It was almost eerie, for he was alone in the area except for a few people over in the corner cleaning up the coffeepot and garbage.

"Ready to go home, son?" Soichiro's comment made Light blink once and look over at him, giving him the impression that Light had merely been thinking hard about something rather than daydreaming or sleeping, even if his eyes were open. He wouldn't put it past Light to have skills like that, given how intelligent he was. He certainly didn't have to pay attention in most of his classes, so he could have gotten away with sleeping through his courses as long as he looked awake.

"Father, Aizawa-san." Light stood in response and greeted them, his face still stonily blank.

"Glad to have you here, Yagami-kun," Aizawa said, grinning slightly at the younger man, who smiled faintly in response. "How much longer until you're on your father's team?"

"If they're alright with me working under him, 8 to 10 months, and then only on a conditional basis." Talking brought a little more life to his son's features, and Soichiro relaxed a little.

"How long, really?" Aizawa knew as well as anyone else that those predictions were unrealistic when it came to Light.

"I'd say 2 or 3 months at most."

"Much better. Well, I'm off before my wife skins me for being late for dinner. See you both tomorrow, and welcome again, Yagami-kun." He waved before heading off.

"Ready, son?" Soichiro asked, and Light gathered his folder in response. "What did they put you through today?"

Light humored him by telling him most of the inane training they had him sit through, and the two chatted on the way out of the secure area to their lockers and ultimately out the door on their way home. The whole time, Soichiro could feel that niggling knot of worry in his stomach relaxing as Light spoke.

As long as Light didn't completely shut them all out, he was okay, right? As long as he didn't clam up on them, couldn't they keep pretending there was nothing wrong with him? Light's behavior was growing stranger by the week ever since he'd graduated, but until he gave off any more serious indications that he needed help, what could they do? He seemed normal enough right now, but these long silences at home and the distant look in his eyes coupled with the recent drinking and staying out… He worried. They all did, but he, Sachiko, and Sayu had agreed that pushing him anymore wasn't going to help him, and the last thing they wanted to do was drive him away by treating him like a child or being too nosy.

It was incredibly frustrating to simply wait it out, but they were all hoping that working would put Light back in line. After all, it was probably only boredom and having too much down time that was bothering him.

It was much more reassuring than contemplating the alternatives.

* * *

It ended up being a long day for Light. The tedious training coupled with waiting almost an hour for his father plus two hours of going through the apartments he had narrowed his choices to left him feeling drained at the end of the day, but still satisfied that he had done something. He knew which apartment he wanted.

The complex was close enough that he could walk to NPA headquarters, and it had a pool and a gym in the courtyard. It was furnished sparsely but well enough that he wouldn't need more than a computer desk since he could take his bookshelves from home. He even had cooking utensils and appliances.

He would sign the lease tomorrow after work. His father promised to leave on time so he could accompany Light and make his security deposit and first month's rent, and then Light could start moving out.

He was almost sorry he wasn't more excited, but all he felt was mildly pleased. That was better than nothing, though. As he took off his suit jacket in his room, getting ready for a late dinner with his family, he took his wallet out of the pocket. He pulled Watari's card out and glanced at it.

It was early enough in his career that things had plenty of time to start looking up. He slid the card back in, telling himself that if he felt this listless in another few months, he would think harder about making the call, but right now, he had just started work and would start actually living on his own before next week. There was always the chance that he would find his purpose here, that he could find a challenge in seeing how long it took to move up in the NPA. Finishing training, getting on his father's team, getting his own office, his own team. There were plenty of goals to work toward.

He wished he didn't feel like he was just lying to himself, though. He set the wallet down and loosened his tie, leaving his room to join his family for dinner.

* * *

Every day, Light checked his wallet to make sure the card was still there, telling himself that if things got truly bad, he would call Watari and ask about the job again.

And nearly a year passed, just like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because several readers have asked, the depression aspects of the story are taken both from documentation and personal experience. The overwhelming fatigue, total apathy and lack of feeling, hopelessness about the future, and casual contemplation of suicide were all taken from past experience and checked against documentation more recently. As far as suicide, at least one coworker of mine killed himself after giving warning signs which we didn't recognize as such until it was too late, hence Light's family and coworkers' points of view in this story. Depression isn't a term you toss around lightly to describe how you're feeling on a given day. 
> 
> This all being said, I am not Light, and his character is not a self-insert. I'm just using details from life to make his character more real. Thanks for reading, I'll get off my soapbox.


	17. Outside

" _Father, can I ask you to do something for me?" Light looked away from his computer as he spoke to his father mere days after starting at the NPA._

" _What is it, son?" Soichiro paused beside his desk, surprised that Light was asking him for anything._

" _I don't mean to sound unkind or ungrateful for you dropping by each day, but I respectfully ask that you keep your distance while I'm working, at least during my training. If you want to talk over lunch sometimes or meet up after work, that's different, but during work I have to be seen as an individual, not someone's son." Soichiro watched Light, noting the sincerity on his son's face and the fact that he made these requests without feeling ashamed and looking away. It sounded rehearsed, and it probably was. Light had thought through this._

" _Anyone who knows you is well aware of how you got this job."_

" _Yes, but perception is everything. My coworkers might get ideas if I try to move up too quickly and succeed when I'm the Chief's son." Light shrugged. "It probably wouldn't be an issue if I wasn't trying to finish a lot sooner than I should, but I have to prove I can do it without pulling any administrative strings."_

" _Light, if you're that concerned about it, I can stop checking in on you. I didn't know you were worried about being overshadowed."_

" _Well, I am trying to get out of training a few months early." Was that a smile ghosting across his face?_

" _I suppose I can't fault you with that kind of reasoning," he smiled, wanting to ruffle his hair as he had decades ago when Light was a child._ Some desires never get old no matter how your children age, _he thought. "Just don't tell your mother, since she thinks I watch you every second of the day."_

" _I'll call this afternoon to let her know how settling in is going." That was definitely a smile flitting about his mouth._

" _Alright. Good luck with your training, and there's always more coffee if you need it. You'll learn half the force runs on it when things get dull."_

" _Thanks, father. See you later."_

It had started out harmlessly and reasonably enough, but after months had passed, Soichiro found that his son continued to keep his distance. There was that rift called professionalism between them at work, but it never healed after Light left training and became a full-fledged agent. It happened so gradually that he didn't really notice; it just became second-nature to only have lunch with his son on occasion or call him after work.

Therefore, he never noticed when things started going wrong.

* * *

Sachiko checked the calendar in the kitchen. It was only around mid-February, but it probably wasn't too early to see if Light had plans for his 24th birthday. She wanted to have Light over for dinner and maybe a movie or something else since she saw so little of him these days. Lately the phone calls had been getting more infrequent from him. If he was anything like his father, he was probably just busy at work. Things had a tendency to pile up during the holidays so it took months to sort it out.

She dialed Light's number to leave what would likely be another voicemail. He didn't answer his phone often, but he used to return his messages.

After a few rings, his voicemail picked up. She waited through the brief, impersonal greeting, but when it should have prompted her to start speaking, an automated voice informed her that the inbox was full and she could not leave a message.

Puzzled, she pulled the phone away from her ear and glanced at it. It had been his voice, so she had dialed the right number. Was there something wrong with his phone? She set her phone back down on the counter and went back to working in the kitchen, resolving to ask Soichiro about it later. He saw him every day at work, after all.

* * *

Matsuda shuffled the recent reports in his hands one more time on his way to Light's desk. It was a minor discrepancy, really, but it was odd for there to be anything wrong with Light's reports at all. He was almost meticulous to a fault with them, though it had been taking longer to get them from him lately.

His desk was empty when Matsuda got there, so he headed toward the hub of activity in the main office: the water cooler and coffee pot. There was a small crowd gathered around the two objects already even if it was early in the morning. He glanced over the group but still didn't see Light.

"Anyone seen Yagami-kun?"

"I think he's still in his chief's office. He got called in there early this morning." Yamamoto looked up from stirring his coffee and pushed his glasses up his nose as he replied.

"I hope it wasn't anything bad. I just had some things for him to look at."

"Who knows with that one?" A woman whose name Matsuda had forgotten sighed. "He never speaks, much less tells us what's going on with him."

"What do you mean?" Matsuda scowled slightly. He didn't think that Light was having trouble with his coworkers.

"Natsuko-san doesn't like the fact that Yagami-kun won't give her the time of day," Yamamoto sipped his coffee while looking pointedly away from the now indignant woman, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth as a muffled chorus of laughs went around the small group.

"That's not it and you know it, Yamamoto-kun. He's not friendly and all he does is work. It wouldn't kill him to join us once or twice for lunch." She huffed and went back to filling her water bottle.

"Maybe he's just… not feeling well?" Matsuda didn't know why he felt compelled to defend him, since Light probably was every bit as cold as they described him. He at least knew Light wasn't always that way. "I'll see what's going on with him as soon as he's done with the Chief."

Light was on a different team from Matsuda, so he reported to a different chief. He never had joined his father's team, and they could only assume it was because the NPA had changed their collective minds about letting a father and son work in the same group.

He paused outside the chief's open door and stopped. If the door was open, the discussion wasn't serious and probably wouldn't last long. If the door had been closed, Light could have been in there indefinitely, so he decided to just wait a few moments to see if Light was leaving.

He sifted through the reports again while he waited, the words inside growing clearer as his ears grew more attuned to the murmurs inside the room.

"All I'm saying is," that was Light's chief, keeping his voice low so it wouldn't carry. "You need to call in sick if you can't come in to work. If you're ill, the sick time is there for you to use, but you can only have 2 unexcused absences per quarter without incurring disciplinary action."

"I understand, Chief."

"Is there something we need to know about? Are you still not well?"

"I'm getting better. I just get tired easily since I'm not sleeping."

"In that case, I want to hold off writing you up for those two absences as long as you don't have any more. You're a hard worker, Yagami-kun, and I hope this is temporary."

Light must be waiting, Matsuda noted, for neither of them said anything. The whole conversation was strange. He hadn't though Light had been absent so much, but then again, no one saw much of him even if he was at work since he was always so busy.

"One more thing," the chief continued. "Your hair is getting too long in front-"

"I'll cut it, Chief." Matsuda raised his eyebrows at Light interrupting him. Maybe he should leave after all; he didn't want to overhear anything awkward. He started to move away when the chief spoke again with a note of impatience in his voice.

"You do that. You're dismissed, and please don't make me have to write you up."

Matsuda nearly jumped mid-step when Light appeared right in front of him as he swiftly left the office.

"Yaga—" Matsuda trailed off when it was clear Light hadn't even seen him as he walked off. The brief glimpse he had of Light's face had shown his eyes were tired, out of focus and slightly shadowed underneath, as though he hadn't slept in days. Either he was pale or the circles under his eyes made him look paler in comparison. He didn't look well. His hair _was_ too long, for it partially obscured those hollow eyes.

"Yagami-kun," he called a little louder, and the taller young man stopped. He didn't turn to Matsuda, merely glancing over his shoulder, still poised to leave and waiting for him to speak without saying anything. Matsuda wanted to ask about the reports he was holding, but all that came out was, "Are you alright?"

"No, I'm probably coming down with something. Did you need anything?" His voice was a monotone, completely disinterested in him.

"No?" he replied, his voice rising as evidence of his confusion. What was going on? Was Light really this unfriendly with his coworkers? No wonder they thought he was so cold.

Before Matsuda could even remember why he originally went to see Light, the younger man had disappeared without a word back into the main room.

* * *

"Hey, Yagami-kun." It had been a few hours since he'd seen Light outside the chief's office, but Matsuda hadn't wanted to chase after him with the reports since it really was a small error. Light looked sick, and he didn't want to stress him out by bombarding him with issues.

Light looked slowly up at him, almost like waking up from slumber even though his eyes had been open while he typed at his computer. Matsuda had been standing there for several moments, and Light hadn't even looked up at him until he spoke. Now that he had more time to look at Light up close, he could see the abnormally glassy eyes and the reddened lines running across them. He was definitely losing sleep.

"Um, I wanted to talk to you about your reports. There were a few things I had some questions about for evidence's sake, but did you know that for the last five days you've been dating them the 12th?"

"It's not the 12th?" Light's inflectionless voice droned while he turned his head to look at his desk calendar. It _still_ read February 12th.

"No, it's the 16th." He felt a little awkward pointing out something so obvious.

"Oh," was the only thing he said to that, reaching to tear off the right number of pages and toss them in the trash under his desk. To Matsuda's surprise and consternation, he went right back to typing up reports like he wasn't even there. He waited to see if Light would ask if he had anything more, but his fingers never hesitated on the keys, almost machine-like with their consistency.

"Yagami-kun, have you taken lunch yet? You look like you need a break." He hoped that sounded more like an order than a request, but so few people took him seriously that it was a long shot.

"I haven't." Light was sparing with his words.

"Do you want to go get some, maybe take a break from this monotony?" Light stared at his computer, and Matsuda waited for him to save his work or something else, but he kept staring. Just as he was about to ask what was wrong, Light pushed his chair back.

"Lunch sounds good." He saved his work and put up his password-protected screensaver before falling into step beside Matsuda, who deposited the reports in his office and grabbed his coat since there was snow on the ground outside. Light stood waiting in his suit jacket, his eyes somewhere else.

"You're not bringing your coat?"

"I forgot it. It's not important."

"If you're sure," he put his on and led Light out of the offices then the building, heading for the café and bakery across the street that the NPA agents so often visited during lunch. He had been here many times over the years and ordered his typical noodles with chicken and vegetables, but Light only ordered a croissant and a bottle of water.

When they sat down to eat and Light started tearing it into tiny pieces, mostly playing with it and drinking his water, Matsuda had to ask what was going on.

"Is that all you're getting, Light-kun?" Occasionally he addressed Light that way outside work, and he did so now to try to get Light to open up as an acquaintance rather than someone who outranked him in the NPA. Maybe he'd be more free with his words outside the office. He used to be so much more congenial. For pity's sake, he used to smile!

"I'm just not hungry today." Light never looked up from taking tiny bites of his food.

"Is it part of your illness? It makes you nauseous or something?"

"Probably." Matsuda almost banged his head on the table in frustration. With all these one-word answers and indirect responses, he was getting nowhere. All Matsuda felt was terribly awkward, like he was pulling teeth to even get Light to acknowledge his presence.

He would have to ask Chief Yagami if Light had been to a doctor lately, since losing sleep had obviously put him completely out of sorts. This wasn't normal, but his family should know what was really wrong with him.

He sighed, glancing up to see that Light was, in fact, completely ignoring him again before going back to his lunch. The sooner he was back to normal, the better. This was too strange.

* * *

Despite his good intentions, Matsuda didn't remember to ask Soichiro what was going on. On the way back from the bakery, he and Light ran into Sayu outside the headquarters. She was apparently there to bring Soichiro some drycleaning during her lunch break from college classes. Her father had a formal dinner to attend that night, so she was sparing him the trip home by bringing his suit to him. Light only said hello distractedly and disappeared inside the building without another word, which left his sister standing dumbfounded outside the doors, her arms full of a drycleaning bag and a box of shoes as it started to snow.

Like a true gentleman, Matsuda offered to take them to Soichiro in Light's stead, and Sayu accepted the offer gratefully. Just her thanks was enough to make his cheeks redden with more than just the cold.

As he bid her goodbye after that all-too-brief meeting, thoughts of Light's strangeness were far from his mind.

* * *

"Light," Soichiro said in a low voice as he neared Light's desk the next Monday. "Son, are you busy?"

"Not really. What is it?" Light was still looking at his computer, his words contradicting his actions since he seemed completely absorbed in his work still. Soichiro smiled a little wryly. Light was definitely his son with that workaholic attitude.

"Your mother wanted me to ask if you had Friday off work."

"No." Only the one word. Light was really busy if he wouldn't even stop to talk.

"I'll keep it brief. Do you have any plans for dinner that day?"

"No." Again, his answer was immediate. He wondered if that was because Light had his entire schedule memorized or because he wasn't taking any time to date or see friends or do _normal_ things. Soichiro had been that way at first as well, but since he had been married when he joined the NPA, he at least had Sachiko to answer to about how he spent his free time.

"In that case, we were thinking that if you didn't have plans, we'd like to have you come home to celebrate." Light finally turned from his computer then, his face blank with mild puzzlement.

"Celebrate _what_?" Now it was Soichiro's turn to look surprised. Light looked as though he didn't have any idea what was going on or even why Soichiro would be asking.

"Your birthday, Light. This Friday is February 28th, your birthday." His voice came out in a monotone to match Light's; he felt like he was explaining things to a child.

"Oh." Light moved his head to glance at his calendar. "So it is."

"So," his voice sounded strained now. "Would you like to come home that evening?"

"Sure…" Soichiro glanced up at the odd way he let that trail off and saw Light's eyelids flutter as though he was falling asleep. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his head fell to one side. He reached out to catch Light when his body started to lean in the opposite direction as if Light had fainted, and his heart suddenly pounded with worry.

Before he could say anything or even catch Light's arm, his son jerked suddenly as though coming awake, and he sat up straight, his eyes wild even as they struggled to focus and stop rolling around. One hand went to the bridge of his nose as he squinted his eyes shut.

"Light? What just happened?!" He tried to keep his voice down to keep from making a scene, but it was difficult. Light massaged his forehead for a moment before replying, his eyes still closed and his mouth forming a grimace.

"Dizzy spells."

"Are you having these often?" Soichiro was dumbstruck.

"Sometimes. I'm losing sleep because I'm sick, that's all."

"Do you need to go home?" If he was sick and fainting, why was he even at work? That was what sick leave was for.

"No!" That answer was forceful in comparison to his other flat, uninterested responses in this conversation. "I'll be fine. I don't need to go home."

"If this keeps happening, tell someone, Light. Don't go passing out on us." He watched Light for a few more moments, but Light put his hands back down and turned to face his computer, his eyes blinking back into focus. "Are you sure you don't need to see a doctor?"

"I'll be fine, Father, thanks." Soichiro waited, watching him before getting ready to leave. He trusted his son's judgment, but he really wished Light would see someone if he was so sick.

"So we'll see you for dinner Friday?" Light had been falling asleep or fainting or having a dizzy spell when he responded, so he wondered if Light even know what he had said.

"Yes. I'll be there." Just like that, Light was gone again, nearly oblivious to the world and showing no signs of the dizziness he had just had. It was almost eerie, Soichiro thought as he patted his son's shoulder before turning to go.

* * *

It was only a few days later that Soichiro found an odd message waiting for him in his voicemail when he stepped outside to check it during his lunch. He listened, scowled in surprise and irritation, and called the person back.

It was Light's apartment manager, and all he said in the message was that Soichiro needed to call him as soon as possible. He didn't like vague messages, for all they did was make him anxious about calling the person back. The manager picked up on the second ring, and Soichiro introduced himself and asked what was going on.

"Quite frankly, Yagami-san, I can't reach your son, and your name is listed as a co-signer on the lease." The manager sounded puzzled as he spoke. "I can't leave a message on his phone, and he either doesn't answer his door or isn't home. He's behind on his rent this month, and I have to assess a late charge. He has one more week to pay before the late fee is doubled."

"He hasn't paid? Are you certain?" This had to be a mistake. Light wasn't foolish with money; he had looked over Light's budget himself before he signed the contract for this apartment, so he knew that Light was making enough to make the rent payments. He hadn't bought a car or anything, so where was the money?

"I'm quite certain. He was almost late last month as well, but I didn't have to assess any fees then."

Soichiro let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. "You'll have the rent tomorrow, one way or another. I'll get in touch with my son."

"Thank you, sir. Have a good day."

Soichiro closed the phone numbly, his mind churning. The only way to get answers for this kind of a mistake was to find Light. It had to be a misunderstanding.

Light, however, was not at the office that day, as Soichiro found out upon returning to the main room in the Intelligence Division's offices. He had called in sick that morning, which made it his fifth sick day that quarter. His supervisor was growing displeased with the trend even if he told Soichiro that Light did in fact look unwell when he saw him. When Soichiro heard that Light had two unexcused absences in addition to the sick time, he wondered for the second time that day if it was really his son they were discussing.

Excusing himself from his own team that day, he took his items from the lockers in the break room and left the building, intent on finding out what was going on before he lost another minute. He called Light's phone and got a voice telling him he couldn't leave a message. No wonder his landlord couldn't get through to him. Was Light really not checking his voicemail? Had he lost his phone, perhaps?

Agitated, he nearly slipped on the new-fallen snow that covered the sidewalks and made them slick as he hurried along. He called Sachiko while he headed down the streets that would take him to Light's apartment, and she remarked that she hadn't been able to reach Light for over a week. When he asked why she hadn't said anything, she said that she had simply forgotten.

Perhaps they had grown too relaxed in their dealings with Light. About a year ago, they had come to the conclusion that, as a family, they couldn't force him to open up and would wait for him. That seemed to be the wrong approach given the current circumstances.

Soichiro had respected Light's professional request for him not to show Light any sort of special attention to keep his coworkers from getting the wrong idea. At the time, it was the right thing to do, but when had he simply accepted seeing so little of Light every day? Sachiko had grown accustomed to once-a-month phone calls and occasional meals with her only son, and when had he and Sayu last spent _any_ time together? They were brother and sister; busy job and college classes aside, they should at least see more of each other than passing the other by on the street.

What was happening to his family?

* * *

_Get up._

_Get out of bed. It's long past noon._

The phone at the bedside started ringing. One arm slid slowly up the covers to rest against the ear that wasn't buried in the pillows, blocking out the sound of the phone. Eyes stayed closed, but they squeezed more tightly shut.

_I should answer that._

The phone continued to ring, the ringtone mildly annoying even though it was muffled.

_It might be important. Answer the phone._

Nothing. It was like trying to move lead weights to get even his fingers to dig into his scalp in mixed frustration and desperation. Eventually, it would stop, if he could wait it out. He just had to ignore it for a few more moments even as part of him struggled to get it.

_Answer the damn phone!_

The phone stopped ringing.

_Idiot. At least get out of bed. There's laundry to pick up, and you need to get food. You need to get going._

His arm moved to rest where he could brace himself to sit up, but he had no energy to do so, and it fell to the side, forgotten.

 _Sit up. At least_ sit up _, and then it will be easier to get going._

He was so tired. He felt like it had been years, decades, since he had a full night's sleep, sleep free of horribly vivid nightmares about drowning or something.

_Why? Why should I get out of bed anyway? What is there to do today that makes it worthwhile?_

_Get up, you sorry, wretched, **worthless** excuse for a police agent. At this rate, you're going to lose your job._

_I don't care._

_You're pathetic. You're right, you should just lie here and rot because you aren't doing the world any good by getting up._

_I know._

Glassy eyes stared blindly out the window as fingers formed into weak fists and he curled in on himself just a little bit more.

_I know..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is "Outside" because this is how Light looks to everyone else. The next chapter, "Inside", is what's going on in his head. Sad, perhaps, that still no one sees, but that's pretty accurate in real life. People can be willfully ignorant if it keeps them happy.


	18. Inside

In the end, thirst drove Light from his bed. Sitting up made his head swim, so he stayed long moments, breathing slowly and clutching the side of his headboard until the floor stopped moving. He didn't even glance at the phone lying beside the bed. If it wasn't making noise, he seldom thought about it.

The room was chilly. He had meant to turn the heat up a few days, or weeks, ago, but it wasn't that big a deal so he usually forgot about it. His feet carried him from the bedroom down the short hall to the kitchen. There were several glasses beside the sink, all dirty and all waiting to be washed. He grabbed the nearest one, rinsed it out, and refilled it from the water dispenser in the refrigerator. As he leaned back against the appliance, having won another grueling battle to get out of bed, he contemplated the kitchen and what he should probably do with the remainder of his wasted day.

The trash was obvious. There were two full bags next to the garbage can, which was admittedly small but also full. Having the bags of trash sitting on the floor didn't bother him so much as the fact that it was a small kitchen and they were getting in the way. Had he even sorted them? Was the burnable trash mixed in with the non-burnable items?

 _Damn._ He didn't want to take out the wretched trash and now he couldn't remember if it was even sorted. Finishing off the water, he decided that he really didn't care. He could make a bag of burnable trash so it didn't look like he hadn't sorted it. Pulling a new liner out from under the sink, he carried it to the dining room table, which had not once been used since he moved in here. He took all of his meals in the kitchen or living room instead.

The table was covered in mail. Most of it was probably junk mail, credit card offers, and sales ads. He didn't bother to sort it out everyday and just kept throwing his mail on the table, resolving one day to go through it for anything important. That day hadn't come for months. Sighing with exasperation, he looked over the topmost layer for letters from his family or anything that might look personal before shoving the whole mess into the garbage bag and tying it up. There, now he had a bag of burnable trash.

He didn't feel like taking it out right away, so he glanced inside the refrigerator for something to eat. He wasn't hungry yet, but later he might want something more substantial than water to eat. There were three small takeout cartons from a restaurant nearby that delivered as well as a bottle of juice and various condiments. There might be vegetables in the bottom, but he didn't feel like finding out if they too had rotted as the last ones had, so he closed the door.

Light was such a wreck. He knew it. That constantly irritated voice in the back of his head reminded him of it daily, so how could he possible forget? Most days he at least managed to get himself out of bed in time to get to work, but if he forgot to set his alarm or just didn't feel well enough to get up, he stayed in bed. He never had to bring food to work since he usually didn't have any appetite for lunch and drank more coffee instead.

Coffee. He glanced over at the pot sitting still plugged in from yesterday. Fortunately it had an automatic shutoff or he could accidentally burn the place down with his carelessness someday. A slight smile tugged at his features as he moved to dump out the old grounds, tossing them into the disposal in the sink rather than the garbage.

_If only it was that easy..._

He had completely killed any effect that the caffeine might have had by drinking so much of it everyday, but he had near-crippling headaches without it, which probably meant he was addicted, but again, he didn't care.

He didn't care about a lot of things right now.

There was a drycleaning slip tacked to the front door, which was right beside the kitchen. He had probably put it there so the next time he left the apartment, he would remember to pick up his latest batch of clothes. There was no rush. After 30 days, they would send his clothes off to a charity or secondhand store, but he had plenty of time before that happened.

Opening one of his many nearly-bare cupboards, he pulled down the container of coffee, but it was suspiciously light. He pried the lid open and stared into the empty container for long moments before closing it back up.

Frozen, his body stayed in that position while the rage built inside him like a storm, surging until he wanted to throw it across the room, hopefully into something breakable. He wanted to scream in frustration, even if it _was_ over something so insignificant.

But that was idiotic, and Light was not stupid enough to do something so pointless.

The fury bled out of him as he breathed out, and he sighed instead, moving to put it into the trash, which he had forgotten was already full. Cursing in annoyance, he pulled the bag out, tying it up and grabbing the other two as well as the bag of burnable trash. He unlocked his front door, stepped outside, and kicked it shut. It wasn't locked, but he didn't need his key to get back inside the building, so he left it behind.

He was only on the third floor, so he took the stairs in order to avoid anyone in the elevator. After all, they might wonder if he hadn't sorted his _trash_. His precious _neighbors_ might see him in his pajamas, his hair a wreck, and wonder if he was going to throw his thrice-damned burnable trash into the normal dumpster rather than the incinerator.

A few steps down the stairs, which were open to the outside air and dusted with a layer of new-fallen snow, and he was calm again, or at least back to not caring. It didn't matter what any of them saw or thought, after all. He emerged from the stairs into the hallway that led underneath the apartments. The mailboxes and the manager's office were down here, and he slunk outdoors to avoid seeing anyone.

Snow drifted over his feet as he made his way to the dumpsters and incinerator. It was apparently snowing again, for he felt flakes gathering on his eyelashes and could feel them touching his bare arms. He tossed the bags into their respective areas and turned back to the building.

"Ouch," he heard himself say before he glanced down at his feet. _Dammit._ He'd forgotten to put his shoes on in his haste to get the trash out before he 'lost his nerve', and now they were red from the cold and soaked with melted snow. Nothing to be done about it now. He trudged back toward the building, not feeling any need to hurry since the damage was already done.

Just as he was approaching the hallway under the building, he heard a voice call his name. Pausing in his trek toward the stairs, he turned to the voice, the sound of it dimly registering as familiar. The face he knew, though, and surprise ghosted across his features when he saw who it was.

"Father?"

* * *

"Light?" Soichiro couldn't say anything more than that for a moment. He had been surprised enough to see the very person he had come to check on outside the building, but when he glanced his son up and down, he had another reason entirely to be stunned silent.

He hadn't recognized him when he was first approaching the building, only taking note of a small figure walking into the entryway from the courtyard rather than the street. When he'd gotten closer, the fact that the boy was wearing only a white T-shirt and pajama pants while outdoors in the snow in the dead of winter made him do a double take. It was then that he saw through the unkempt hair that it was his own son.

"Father?" Light didn't sound surprised or upset at his appearance, just taking note of it.

"Light... what are you doing?" His son always wore nice clothes and would never go outside looking anything less than well-dressed, so seeing him like this was a shock.

"Taking out trash." Light stared at him as though the answer should be obvious. Soichiro looked again at him, wondering if he had always been that thin under the flimsy shirt before pulling off his winter coat and handing it to Light.

"Your supervisor said you were sick; you should have at least worn a coat. It's freezing out here."

"It was a quick trip," Light sighed as he put on the coat and started to go up the steps. His reddened, bare feet caught Soichiro's eyes as they emerged from the light snow cover.

"Are you barefoot? Where are your shoes?" It came to him that questioning him like this was bound to annoy Light since it sounded like he was chastising a child, but Light didn't react to the tone of his voice.

"I forgot them." There was no feeling behind his reply. "Are you coming up?"

"Y-yes. I came to see how you were doing, since your landlord said you were behind on your rent. Light, what's going on?"

"I forgot. I'll write a check."

"Besides that, Light." He moved so he could walk alongside him since Light wasn't even looking at him. "You don't look well, and it seems like you're losing weight."

"I'm sick."

"Are you eating?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Son, you can't _not_ eat." Light opened the door to his apartment and pulled off the coat, handing it back to Soichiro.

"I _am_ eating. I just haven't eaten yet today." Soichiro checked his watch as Light trailed wet footprints across the tile in his kitchen, ignoring the shoes by the door. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle before heading out of the room.

"It's almost 3 in the afternoon!"

"I just woke up." Light disappeared down the hallway toward his bedroom as he replied, and Soichiro toed off his own wet shoes and stepped further into the room. His eyes widened at the dishes beside and in the sink and the coffee grounds scattered around the coffeepot. That wasn't _that_ messy, but his son was always meticulously clean and even this much sloppiness was uncharacteristic of him.

The living room was almost completely dark due to the curtains being closed even though it was bright outside with the combination of faint winter sunlight and snow. He glanced at the rumpled blanket on the sofa and the empty takeout container and used glasses on the coffee table. Maybe Light was only so messy because he was ill, but the fact that there was dust all over everything bespoke months of disuse or at least inattention to basic cleaning. The apartment was also chilly and smelled faintly of mold. He probably wouldn't have even noticed it if Sachiko hadn't been such an energetic cleaner of their own house, but this sort of untidiness was alarming.

On a different note, other than the clutter, the place looked exactly as it had when they moved Light into it. What he had seen of the apartment had no personal touches, not even any books or movies in this sterile living room.

There were alarms going off in his head, but for the life of him he couldn't fathom why, so he latched onto the things he could figure out.

"Light, have you been to the doctor?" He went back into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator to get an idea of what Light might be eating, suddenly not concerned with what his son might think of his snooping. The shelves were bare except for takeout containers and condiments, and he peered into one. It was completely full of vegetables and meat, not even touched. The others were the same, one with steamed rice and another of noodles.

A strange smell made him open the vegetable crisper, and the sight of the blackened vegetables or fruit inside a clear bag sickened him. He pulled the soggy items out and set them by the door, intending to throw them out on the way downstairs so they didn't stink up the apartment.

What was wrong with Light?

"Light!" he called again, wondering if he had even heard him. "Have you seen a doctor about this?" Quiet footsteps came back down the hall. Soichiro glanced up and was struck by the shadows under Light's eyes that he could see now that Light had combed his unusually long hair out of the way. Even his cheekbones looked sharper in his thinner face. How had he not noticed how ill he looked at work?

When had he last spent time with him at work?

That made his mind up.

"It's not that serious-"

"Get dressed. I'm taking you right now." He closed the refrigerator and stood up.

"Alright." Soichiro expected a little more of a fight than that, but he was glad Light wasn't going to argue with him. He waited anxiously in the kitchen before realizing that he could call Sachiko and let her know what was going on. Briefing her on the situation, he asked if she could come by and straighten up the apartment this weekend after Light came home for his birthday dinner. He didn't doubt Light was sick and unwilling or unable to clean up his apartment, but that was something his mother would be willing to do for him. She agreed, as he had known she would.

Light came back into the kitchen, looking slightly more himself in a sweater and khakis, his longish hair combed more to one side so it didn't cover his eyes.

"Let's go, son." Soichiro handed him the coat that had been hanging by the door, and Light took it, his eyes dead and unconcerned, willing to follow orders. Again, it was unusual, but hopefully the doctor would be able to tell them what was wrong. He hoped it was serious, the flu or pneumonia or something else debilitating that would explain all the strangeness. There was a slip taped to the door, so he pulled that down to take with them since they could get his drycleaning on the way back. Grabbing the rotten items by the door that Light hadn't even noticed, he led them out of the apartment and locked it behind them, handing the keys back to his distracted-looking son.

He had walked here from the NPA's main offices since it would have been more trouble to move the car and find parking for it, so they had about a 15-minute walk back to the headquarters. Glancing at Light out of the corner of his eye, he saw that he was walking in a daze. His eyes didn't seem to be focused on anything.

He couldn't think of anything to ask, though. He wondered about a lot of things, mostly what Light was doing at work since he could tell what he was and wasn't doing at home, but he didn't want to bother him if he was ill. In the end, they walked in silence back to the car.

* * *

"Until the blood work comes back, I can't say for certain what's wrong with you." The doctor flipped through Light's file and sat back in his chair. Light's father shifted next to him, obviously worried.

Light stared ahead, disinterested in the whole situation. He knew what was wrong. He wasn't sleeping, and he wasn't eating because he was always sick to his stomach. It was that simple.

No one wanted to believe that, though, so they continued to look for other things wrong with him. He had started telling his coworkers and his supervisor that he was sick because it was more believable than telling them he had no appetite and his sleep was plagued by nightmares. They didn't need to know that, and as long as he was vague about it, they didn't ask any more questions.

"Your temperature and blood pressure are normal, your cultures came back negative for flu and other illnesses, and you don't have anything other than mild cold symptoms." Light blinked to contribute to the diagnosis. "You _are_ underweight for your age, though, and I'm concerned that you're not getting enough nutrition. How many times a day do you eat?"

"At least once. I have no appetite." He could handle direct questioning, but he had no desire to carry on a conversation or say more than was absolutely necessary in any given situation.

"How many hours of sleep do you get per night?"

"I don't know."

"Can you even guess? A rough estimate?" Light shrugged.

"Three or four hours, maybe. It's not consecutive."

"So you're having trouble sleeping."

"Yes."

"For how long?" Light contemplated saying 'my entire life', but he decided sarcasm wasn't appropriate even if it was probably the truth.

"A year, probably longer."

"I have another questionnaire for you, then. Please fill it out and I'll see how long it will take your blood work to get back." The doctor pulled a sheaf of papers out from under the reports he had been looking at and handed them to Light with a pencil. Light stared at them dully. It was such a bother getting his eyes to focus.

The doctor left and his father went back to looking through a magazine. Not having anything better to do, Light starting filling in the dots on the survey, which he could tell was an obvious mental health assessment even if there were questions about his physical health and sleep patterns on there as well.

He didn't care. The whole damn world could know at this point what was wrong with him and he wouldn't care. It's not like there was anything anyone could do to help.

He handed it over when the doctor came back, and the man stepped out again, leaving Light trapped in the room with his father. The lack of any mental stimulation left Light aware that he was queasy, nauseous even. Most days it was probably because he was honestly starving that his mind was confusing hunger with illness. He usually got takeout on the way home from work or had it delivered since he couldn't muster any desire to cook, but more often than not the smell sickened him and he put it in the refrigerator for the next day. It was becoming more and more of a chore to eat, and his appetite was decreasing to match it.

There, Light had his own diagnosis. Now if only he could leave.

He didn't know how much time passed until the doctor came back with another slip. Soichiro put down the magazine and sat forward attentively in contrast to Light's own relaxed, bored posture with his chin in his hand and his legs crossed.

"I'm giving you a referral to a colleague of mine. Mainly, it's because you need an assessment from him in order to get any kind of sleep aid, which I'm recommending for your insomnia. You may want to discuss your-" the doctor glanced down at the sheet and read off it, "'pervasive feelings of worthlessness' and the fact that you feel 'blue' almost all of the time as well. You need to stop at the desk in front in order to schedule your appointment with him. Other than that, the only thing I can do is advise you to change your sleep habits. This brochure might give you some useful pointers, but please make that other appointment before anything else." Light didn't miss the glance the man gave his father, but he couldn't be bothered to be annoyed at his treatment.

"Thank you," he said because he assumed it was polite as he took the papers. Soichiro thanked the doctor as well, and they left. Light stopped at the front desk and told them what the doctor had almost ordered him to do, though he didn't much care for the idea. Sleeping pills might be nice to have, especially prescription ones, but he doubted anything else useful would come of the appointment. They handed him another slip, which Light took without even glancing at the day or time.

"Son, you are going to go to that appointment, right?" Light sighed at his father's question as they headed out the doors. Soichiro was pulling on his coat as they stepped outside and was distracted enough not to notice him right away.

"Of course, father." As he passed the waste can outside, one more piece of trash joined the pile of clutter at the bottom.

There wasn't any helping him, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perceptive types and betas might argue that the expression "he didn't feel like it" got overused in this chapter, but that's on purpose. You really don't feel like doing much of anything when you're sunken into depression, if you'll pardon the melodramatic language.


	19. Breakdown

One more lifeline, gone.

There was no guilt anymore to prickle at his conscience, no shame in choosing to die slowly rather than be disappointed by another's futile attempt to save him.

Snow crunched underfoot as Light followed his father to the car. He kept glancing back at him as they walked, but Light couldn't be bothered to meet his gaze, his eyes drifting over his surroundings without seeing them, his thoughts equally disinterested, at least until his father's car appeared before them.

The car was the same color it had always been, and colors were hardly things Light took note of anymore, but... it was blue.

Just like Light, according to that questionnaire he had filled out. That meaningless piece of paper that was supposed to illuminate some general practitioner as to the complexities of his inner workings.

Had he really answered, of all things, that he was _blue?_ What was that anyway?

Did 'blue' mean that when he stared down the stairs at his apartment or at the NPA headquarters, he wished on his bad days that one misstep would carry him headlong down the steps? His head would split like a melon against that concrete landing, and it would all be over.

Was he 'blue' for wondering if walking out into traffic would kill him quickly or merely injure him? He would stand there watching the early morning traffic on the way to work, the buses, foreign cars, motorcycles, and trucks going by, waiting for his feet to take him into the fray before the crosswalk signaled him to cross. Some days he hovered on the edge of the curb, hoping in the back of his mind that someone behind him would push a little too hard and he'd stumble out there, right into the path of a bus. Just like that, his problems would be solved.

If that was blue, Light was definitely... blue.

The absurdity of the word was hilarious: describing a _death wish_ with a color.

Light stopped, standing outside the car as a laugh bubbled up out of his chest. The sound was so foreign to him that it sounded and felt more like a cough, a series of short barks that made him sound mentally disturbed.

But he was already that, so why try to cover it up?

Light bent slightly, one hand resting on the car and the other over his mouth to hide the odd hiccups from escaping, which only made his eyes tear up with the pain of something so simple as laughter.

He thought he heard his father's voice behind him, but the words were unintelligible when all he could hear was his own madness in his ears. A hand rested on his shoulder, and he shook his head, still unable to squelch the sounds of his deranged mirth.

"Light, are you alright?" Soichiro's voice started to sober him up, and he stood straighter, his hand still covering his demented smile.

"I'm blue, Dad. I'm blue." Maybe he would think it was amusing too, for something so innocuous to describe something so ugly.

But it really wasn't, was it? Hoping that death would take him away from this misery wasn't very funny, was it?

_What the hell is wrong with you? Stop it, stop laughing, you shameless wreck. You look like an idiot._

He swallowed hard, willing the laughter away, and kept his hand over his traitorous expression. His breathing slowly returned to normal despite the occasional hiccup, but his face colored slightly with embarrassment at the display he had just put on for his father, who was bound to worry even more and bother him with his concern.

_What's wrong with me?_

"I'm alright; I must just be really overtired. Sorry if I worried you." He stared at the snow under his shoes rather than looking into Soichiro's face.

"You did, Light. Your behavior has gotten really... strange. I don't know how else to describe it."

"Has it." There it was again, the unfeeling. No more weird displays of emotion or strange concepts of humor. The lack of feeling he could understand, since it was all he'd known for so long. If he wasn't so tired all the time, maybe he'd feel something else, but the exhaustion limited his emotional vocabulary to _tired, sick,_ and _bored_.

"Light, I've been thinking. Are you sure you don't want to come home for a few days, at least until you're better?"

"I don't have anything a little sleep won't cure; you heard the doctor."

"Yes, but," Soichiro went around the car to unlock Light's side and waited for him to get in, "I think your mother would agree that you might feel better if you didn't have to worry about cleaning or making meals. I could even drive you to work, and afterward you could just take some time to yourself to relax and do something enjoyable."

_Like what? I have no hobbies._

"I think I'll be okay, father."

"I want you to think about it. I'll take you to get your drycleaning now, and you can tell me for sure when we get back home. We can get you something to eat, too."

Light just shrugged in response and buckled his seatbelt, resting his head against the window when it didn't sound like his father had anything more to say. He had no energy to fight him.

The engine's hum was soothing to the headache that was always lingering behind his eyes, just with varying degrees of intensity throughout the day. His eyes fell shut and he let the subtle vibration of the vehicle relax his muscles, his sleep-deprived mind slipping gratefully into a light doze.

* * *

The hum of the engine became low rumbling thunder, and his eyes opened back up to that hellish landscape that he knew too well.

The stink of rotting vegetation assailed his nostrils, and the cold water sapped the strength from his limbs as he came to, floating in the same bracken he had before.

This was nothing new. He had been seeing it for months, but the memory of it always left him when he woke. Every night he lived its horrors anew, and every morning he forgot it, his mind so dusty with disuse that he had no ability to retain something as unimportant as dreams.

He was dying, bit by bit drifting further away from reality, the colors and emotions related to his daily life all bleeding away, and his dreams were becoming more real, more vivid, in contrast. The water was colder, the thunder more earth-shaking when lightning reached purple-tinged white fingers across the sky, the distance between himself and salvation greater every time. For all the distance, though, their voices only grew clearer.

Today it was his father, again. The lightness of the sky behind him compared to the darkness of the rock made his eyes hurt.

Light tossed his sodden hair out of his face as he treaded water and stared up, wondering what entreaties or pleas Soichiro would make this time. It was only a matter of time until his limbs gave out from exhaustion, anyway. Soon enough the water would close over his head and end this nightmare, though it was no less terrifying for the frequency of its occurrence.

"Why don't you trust me to help you?" This time Soichiro just sounded exhausted, frustration coloring his voice. Sometimes he pleaded for Light to reach out to him, but after that first time Light was too ashamed to let even a hand escape the water. If anything, he tried to sink deeper into it, hiding himself, for he could feel the cold along every inch of his skin and knew he was exposed. He kept his lips pressed tightly together if he didn't have to breathe through them, denying him even the sound of his pitiful voice.

How had he begged for help, even once?

_There was no helping him._

There was shame in even _asking_ for it.

"Light, tell me what I'm doing wrong." His father sounded defeated, much like he did when talking to Light in real life. Light shook his head, knowing as little about how to deal with this as Soichiro did.

As he had known it would, one of his feet caught in that waterlogged fabric that was wrapped around his neck, choking him. He pulled at it with his hands, the fear of suffocating never lessening either, and the weight of it pulled him suddenly under now that he wasn't treading water to stay afloat. A gasp of surprise and his lungs were full of water again, his limbs growing leaden and the light of the surface falling away from him...

* * *

Light sat up abruptly, breathing hard and grabbing at something around his neck, but there was nothing there other than a winter coat. Dimly he was aware of a shout, but his ears were still ringing from coming awake so quickly.

As always, after the initial shock of waking up, the energy fled him and he fell back, his heart rate slowing gradually as his breathing evened out. This was what always got him in trouble waking up. He slept too little because of the nightmares or just insomnia in general, so when the energy left him, so too did the desire to get out of bed.

Soon the crushing headache would come, and the lancing pain behind his eyes, and he would roll over and try to go back to sleep.

He wasn't in his bed, though. Looking around, he tried to get his bearings, but it was dark outside. He was still in the car, and his father was in the driver's seat staring at him with something akin to shock.

"Light?" Soichiro sounded lost, just like in his dream.

"Dad?" He looked around. "Where am I?" The last thing he remembered was drifting off mid-afternoon outside the doctor's office, but now it was dark and there were houses around him.

"Outside the house, our house. You were sleeping so soundly that I didn't want to wake you. I have your drycleaning in the back and some things from your apartment." Light started to ask why, but it seemed Soichiro wasn't finished. "You're staying here tonight. Your mother's made dinner and I can take you to work tomorrow."

Light swallowed, lingering shreds of some nightmare or another making him nervous, jumpy. "Alright." It didn't matter where he slept or where he stayed, after all; the nightmares and the feelings always followed him.

"I think it woke you up when I shut the car off, but you were sound asleep ever since the doctor's." He peered at Light, and it suddenly seemed suffocating inside the car, so Light unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed the door open, needing the chilly air to clear his lungs.

"Do you always wake up like that?" Soichiro followed him out of the car, one of Light's suits over his arm along with a bag from his apartment. Light tried to take them from him but his father shooed him off and led him to the house.

"More or less," Light replied, squeezing his thumb and middle finger over his temples to ward off the inevitable pain as he started up the path.

"That can't possibly be restful."

"It's not."

"Light?" his mother opened the door to them, her face drawn with concern. "Come here." Then he was in her arms, her head somewhere around chest-level since he was so much taller than her. He swallowed, feeling incredibly awkward. His family had never been big on physical affection, so this was unusual and he really didn't know what he was supposed to do. Fortunately, her arms were atop his, so he couldn't really hug her back and he just waited for her to let go of him.

"It's alright, mother." Vague platitudes were probably the best route to take, since his father could have told her any number of things while he was unconscious.

"What's wrong with your phone?" she asked, suddenly pulling back with her arms still holding onto his biceps through the coat. "I haven't been able to reach you. Come inside, come in."

 _Damn. Think, Light,_ _think_. _Anything is better than saying you just didn't feel like answering it._

"I didn't think about it. I've been sick for the last few weeks." This excuse worked for everyone else, after all.

"I heard. Come get something to eat. Have you been eating much at home?"

"Not really," he sighed, taking off his shoes and coat while his father took his things up to his old room.

"If you don't want to stay here after today, I can make you dinner, you know. I can have your father bring something by so you don't have to worry about cooking while you're sick."

"That's not—"

"Come get dinner, Light. You can think about that tomorrow." His mother looked at Soichiro when he interrupted Light, but his father just shook his head nearly imperceptibly. Light was too tired to care about whatever they might be plotting and just let his mother lead him into the dining room after another glance at his father.

His sister was there setting the table, but there seemed to be some unspoken agreement that he didn't need to be bothered or interrogated tonight, and no more questions were asked of him other than ones related to what they were eating. He listened with half an ear to what his family was saying and tried to look interested in his food. The smell hadn't immediately nauseated him, and he found that as he ate, it grew more palatable. He had nearly finished off his entire meal before it occurred to him that he was even eating.

Strange, that. For so long his food had sickened him to the point that he had to force himself to eat it just so his stomach didn't try to digest itself. He might be depressed and nearly at the end of his rope, but he knew he had to eat as much as he knew he had to shower and sleep at night. It never had any appeal for him anymore, though.

He paused, a piece of what had been one of his favorite dishes caught in his chopsticks. It didn't look any different from the food that he got from the restaurants near his apartment, though. There was nothing special about it. Nothing at all.

He grew dimly aware of the conversation around him quieting, and he glanced up from his scrutiny of the food to see his sister's eyes meeting his across the table. Her face was blank, as though she was watching him and waiting to see what he was going to do. Long moments ticked by.

"Light?" her low query finally broke his reverie, and he felt his insides growing cold, the nausea returning. The chopsticks fell from his nerveless fingers, clattering distantly on his plate, and he wanted to get away before something bad happened.

"Excuse me," he murmured, shoving his chair back and leaving the room, headed for the stairs and his old sanctuary. There were low voices behind him, but no one followed him up the stairs though he hurried as if dogs were chasing him.

Then his door was closed behind him, and he let out the air he hadn't known he was holding in the darkened room. Pulling his sweater over his head, he fell atop the bed in just his undershirt and khakis. He had noticed in the brief glance around that with his desk and bookshelves gone, the room looked more like a very bare guest room. It still looked familiar enough to feel comfortable, though, and he closed his eyes, willing the strange and frightening sensations away.

 _What's going on? If I didn't know better, I'd think I was about to start crying over_ food! _What's **wrong** with me?_

For once, the voice in the back of his head didn't answer him. He craned his neck slowly up and saw his clock was still in here, and it was only 7:30. There was no reason to stay awake any longer, though, no matter how early it was.

Rolling off the bed before he got too comfortable, he investigated the bag his father had brought for him, pulling out his nightclothes and toothbrush. He set them on the bed and pulled his keys out of his pocket along with his wallet.

As always, he peeked at the card, the one bearing Watari's number. It had grown fuzzy along the edges due to him handling it every day, but the numbers were still legible. As of late, he almost wanted to call it, but by now they surely had the position filled, or they had forgotten all about him. He would just be a bother if he called now. He pushed it back inside and set the items on his nightstand, the only surface left in the room beside his dresser.

He was in the middle of brushing his teeth when his mother poked her head in the open bathroom door.

"Are you alright, Light? Was something wrong with the food?" He shook his head, spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste before responding.

"I just don't feel well. Dinner was... great." He'd almost forgotten how to use words like that, for everything was either 'fine' or 'okay' nowadays. No one reacted to what he said if he used vague terms like that, and they didn't bother him for a different response. "I think I'm going to sleep now. I get tired easily."

"Do you want me to wake you up when your father gets up for work?"

"Sure," he said, though he wished it was the weekend and he could just sleep through the next day. The only way he kept track of the days was to check his phone every day when he woke up to look at the calendar. Since he never answered it anymore, it was the only purpose the object served, to keep him from going into work on his weekends. He didn't even take it anywhere and just left it plugged in at home.

"Good night, then. I'll see you in the morning. Just take it easy for a few days until you're better." He smiled a little, though he knew at this point that it looked terribly fake, and she patted his arm and left again. It might have bothered him in the past to have his family around him all the time like this, but... he didn't care.

That's what everything boiled down to, after all.

* * *

For the second time that day, after a long battle to actually fall asleep, he found himself staring up, wondering who was looking down at his pathetic, naked self as he floated in the midst of filth in a frigid swamp. If not for the bracken, though, they might actually see him, and that was inexplicably horrifying. His face burned at the thought.

He tugged one-handed at the cloak that was going to drag him under eventually when an odd note of laughter met his ears.

Looking up, he almost put himself under when his arms and legs stopped moving. Usually the only person he saw was his father, though occasionally Sayu stared mournfully down at him without speaking, and his mother echoed Soichiro's behavior, entreating him to reach out for her, though in real life he doubted she would have been able to pull him up. Perhaps that was why she appeared so seldom; his doubts kept her away, much like Sayu, who didn't even reach for him and just watched him.

Instead, the person he last expected stared back at him, a sardonic smile twisting his pale features beneath that scarecrow hair. Despite how long it had been since he'd seen him, the outlandish features were unmistakable.

" _Ryuzaki?_ " he screeched, unable to help himself. Something about him seemed wrong, but then again, a stranger showing up in his dreams surrounded by storm clouds and thunder, suspended above a marsh, would make anyone look strange.

"Hardly. Do you think _he's_ at all concerned about you?" Ryuzaki crouched at the edge of the rock, his features perfectly clear despite the perceived distance between them. His shadowed eyes looked amused, and one thumb was caught between his teeth as he smiled. Light fought the urge to sink and hide, which would only cause him to drown sooner. This was too strange not to find out about. He fought the weight of the cloth dragging him down.

"Who are you?"

"You don't recognize your own voice?" That was what was so wrong with Ryuzaki; he was speaking with Light's voice. The doppelganger dropped the pretense of being Ryuzaki and kicked both legs over the edge of the shelf of rock he sat on, dangling them as though he was a child.

"You're doing better, Light. You surprised me with today, but you aren't done yet. Give me your hand." He leaned down, his hand a million miles away, and Light shook his head, ashamed even if it wasn't really Ryuzaki who was staring at him. The man's face twisted with irritation. "What are you afraid of?

" _Living?_ "

* * *

Light awoke, looking around to get his bearings. The light was coming through the windows from a different direction, and it took him a moment to realize he was at his parent's house.

For once, upon waking, he didn't have the urge to half-pull his nightshirt off because he thought it was strangling him. He didn't wake up in fear for his life, as though he was drowning.

Something was changing. He didn't know whether to fear the change or just grow to accept it, as he had so many others.


	20. Hope

"I need to go out."

L poked at his tower of sugar cubes, knocking them over across the plate that still held the remnants of a New York style cheesecake. Not his favorite, since they tended to be dry unless he got them straight from a bakery, but things like that usually fixed whatever mood he was in. Now he was resorting to straight sugar, and with good reason.

He was getting bored.

It had been almost a week since a case had come by that looked interesting enough to work on. He had just spent time in Singapore, lurking behind the scenes while Watari worked his magic with the local police and federal agencies in order to get him field agents that would act as his eyes.

After that, he took on a case under his 'Coil' pseudonym in Hong Kong, because even if he had stolen the name from its predecessor, he had to make it look like Coil was still alive in case he ever needed to rely on the title. Watari didn't work with Coil, obviously, but L did all of his work over the Internet or phone as Coil. He was purely in Hong Kong with Wammy for sport.

There was something appealing about the skylines of both locations: the massive skyscrapers crowding every bit of greenery out of the cities except inside tightly-contained parks, and the mad jumble of flashing lights and noises at every hour of the day. He liked being in the tallest hotels, staring down at the streets from the highest vantage point, and watching the sun sink below the horizon as the city lit up, a million jewels glowing with inner fire. Of course, this was only acceptable if he was safely behind inches of plexiglass or glass, since he still didn't enjoy being around so many people at once.

Japan came to mind, the last time he'd willingly stepped out among so many people. He had hidden his face because, while he could shop for sweets or occasionally get lunches in public, he liked to avoid the high-traffic times, such as Friday night in one of Tokyo's most popular entertainment neighborhoods, Aoyama.

A sugar cube pinged off his monitor when he flicked it with unusual force, but his face stayed blank. After a childhood spent suppressing every flicker of emotion in his expression, his feelings found other outlets. Glancing at his inbox, he pushed the unnecessary thoughts away and refreshed it for the 73rd time this afternoon.

Still nothing.

Maybe he just liked places like Tokyo, Singapore, and Hong Kong because coming back home always felt better. Wammy House had parks and wide expanses of verge around the stone buildings, so it felt like a quiet haven to return to after traveling. Not that he needed it, of course, but the orphanage had always been a special place for him.

Except today, it felt more like a prison. His computer wasn't revealing any intriguing cases for the fifth day running, none of his agents had contacted him with interesting bits of information, and there was nothing of import on the news. So he built towers of sugar cubes, only to destroy and eat them when he checked his mail again and found nothing.

On top of all that, boredom was making him tired. He almost yawned before eating another block of sugar to chase the urge away. It was true; he needed to go out. For him, this wasn't putting on tight clothes and hitting the nearest club. His idea of relaxing was much more sedate.

"Where's Mr. Wammy?" he asked, not glancing behind him but knowing the other person was still there. He could call the older gentleman easily, but he needed to get up and walk around or he would get annoyed looking at his useless computer. The myriad beeps and borderline-obnoxious music, punctuated by the occasional curse, continued unabated behind him.

"Probably checking on some new students we got. Why?" Matt was curled up into the corner of the sofa, his back to L's as he toyed with his PSP2. The boy was decidedly the least annoying of L's so-called "heirs", which meant that he had finished school with one of the top spots, not that L had willed anything to him in case of his untimely death. Matt was out of school, though, and only stayed on at Wammy's because he now worked for them as a programmer, sometime-hacker, and when he could be forcibly convinced to do it, tutor or babysitter.

L had no intention of dying anytime soon and giving up his position, though, so Matt was out of luck as far as inheriting his name, not that he wanted it. Perhaps that was what made him bearable, unlike certain _other_ students had been.

"I need to take the car out."

"Getting anxious?" L stared at the back of the redhead's skull, annoyed at having emotions assigned to him. Matt didn't turn or break stride with what he was playing. "Don't look at me like that. I've listened to you knocking things over for hours. You're worse than Near."

"Hardly." Matt chuckled in response. L sauntered out of the room without waiting for Matt to ask more, intent on finding Wammy and asking him if he was free to drive him around for a while. He left his computer screen-locked in what was dubbed the sun room because of all the windows. Anyone who saw the 'L' on the screen would leave it alone; the Wammy children were far from stupid.

L was perfectly capable of driving himself, but he had no destination in mind, and it wasn't relaxing to drive so much as it was nice to close his eyes and let someone else do the work. That was how L unwound: car rides. It probably had to do with something deep-seated in his childhood, or the fact that the car was more secure than Wammy House, or that it was devoid of children, or... something. L liked his town car almost as much as he loved sweets, and it was furnished accordingly. His experiences in years past hadn't dampened the joy of riding around in it at all.

He just needed to take his mind off things for a while. When he came back, he could find something to research, another language to learn, a new subject of interest, but first he had to get rid of the tension that was building up, and few things were better for that than car rides...

... and ice cream.

* * *

"What day is it?" Light asked over breakfast, his only contribution to the conversation. His mother had woken him almost unnecessarily since he was only dozing when she knocked. He hadn't been able to get back to sleep after that last dream he'd had, even if the details were fuzzy and growing more indistinct as his day wore on.

He had showered mechanically, pulled on the clothes his father had gotten from his apartment as well as the drycleaners, and found he had around thirty minutes to waste until Soichiro left for work. Breakfast was the most appealing of his options, so he nursed a cup of coffee downstairs and tried to muster enough of an appetite for miso and rice, much less anything else. Breakfast had only ever consisted of coffee since he moved out.

"It's Thursday, if that's what you mean," his mother was giving him an odd look.

"Are you still coming over for your birthday dinner tomorrow?" His sister unwittingly reminded him of why he was supposed to be remembering Friday.

"I'll be here," he replied, poking half-heartedly at his rice with his chopsticks. Eating so much so early in the day was making him sick again, so he set his utensils down after he was only half done, concentrating again on his coffee.

The caffeine was making his headache recede, that sometimes agonizing pain that came from sleeping so little. It was like having a spiked ball rolling around inside his skull and white-hot nails driven into his eyes. When it looked like Soichiro was done eating and he stood to get his jacket, Light followed suit, pulling on his coat in order to leave.

Remembering how wonderful it had felt to fall asleep the day before in the car, he got in after his father unlocked it and just rested his head against the window. Appearances be damned, he was so tired and the window was cool against his forehead.

"Light?" Soichiro's voice let him know that his father wasn't going to let him sleep this time; there was a serious edge to it. "Why are you still an analyst?"

Light was almost surprised he hadn't asked this long before. An analyst was an entry-level position in the NPA. If after a few years, an analyst wanted to change jobs by transferring to a new department or getting a promotion to detective, he could put in for it then. Light's credentials would have gotten him the consideration for, if not the promotion to, detective almost as soon as his initial training was complete.

However, his own black mood as well as the lack of anything resembling stimulus in this job that ground his wits to galling dullness had kept him from trying to change his status. He had no enthusiasm for becoming a detective, no drive, no ambition anymore. Nothing happened in the NPA without working for it, and Light had no desire anymore to put in the work, so he stayed an analyst even though it bored him to stupidity to simply compile reports and make comparisons day after day.

"Light?" His father repeated, his voice turning concerned when Light failed to answer him.

"I don't know," he answered, having no energy to make up a pretty lie that would make things easier for them both. He was tired, and he wanted this conversation over with so he could sleep for a few minutes.

"Haven't you put in your applications yet? Are things hung up on the administrative side?"

"No." He waited, feeling both embarrassed as well as annoyed at the truth he would have to divulge. "I never put in for it." His father glanced over at him since they were at a stop light, but he kept staring out the front windshield.

"Why? I thought you wanted to be a detective." Light shrugged.

"It doesn't seem so important anymore." Soichiro stared straight ahead for a long time, his fingers clenched on the steering wheel. His jaw worked as though he was thinking hard about something that he wanted to say, but wouldn't.

_Did you figure it out, Father? Not that it matters._

Light closed his eyes, wondering if the conversation was over yet. He wasn't trying to be secretive, but he wasn't going to volunteer the information either. If anyone asked the right questions, he would probably answer truthfully, mainly because he didn't care anymore what any of them thought.

"Do you remember a year ago, when I asked you if anything was wrong?" Light opened his eyes again but didn't move his head.

"Yes."

"Would you tell me, _right now, Light_ , if there's anything wrong? Anything at all?" His father wasn't looking at him either; he was focused straight ahead. Light could see his profile in his peripheral vision.

"You said 'yes' then, but I didn't believe you, so I want you to tell me the truth now," he continued.

There should have been a million words bubbling up at that question, but Light said nothing. There wasn't a good response to the question that was entirely truthful, and Light was tired of lying for appearances' sake. The silence stretched out, and Light eventually realized he should say something, anything.

"I would tell you if..." _there was anything you could do_ , he trailed off.

"What does that mean?" Now his father sounded anxious.

"I don't know," he whispered. _I don't want to have this talk. Not now, not ever. I just wanted to go to sleep; I'm running out of time before work._

"Why do you think I can't help you?" This was starting to sound like his dream.

"I don't know. I'm just tired right now."

"Being tired wouldn't make you give up on something you wanted." _Maybe I didn't want it that badly, that's all._ "What's really wrong?"

"Can we talk about this later?" He squeezed his eyes shut as pain throbbed behind his eyes, massaging his temples so his father could see that he was in pain.

"You aren't going to do anything before this 'later', are you?" Light almost looked over at him in surprise. Maybe Soichiro did have an idea what was wrong, though Light didn't consider himself suicidal anymore. Being 'suicidal' implied that he was going to actively seek out his death, whereas he was simply waiting for the right opportunity to come along.

There _was_ a difference, so he told himself.

"No, Father, you have my word on it."

Which, of course, didn't mean that Light would do anything to prevent it if some fortuitous accident should happen along and finish him off, finally.

"I'm sorry if I'm being pushy, but I'm really worried, Light." When it registered that the car had stopped moving, Light looked out to see that the NPA Headquarters towered nearby, for they were in the parking lot.

"It's a phase, that's all. I'll be better once I'm well again." Light tossed out the meaningless comforting phrases as he unbuckled his seatbelt, interested in ending this conversation so he could get to work, even if it really did nothing whatsoever to ease his boredom.

"I hope so." Soichiro stepped out of the car. "Do you think you'll stay at home tonight too?"

"I might," he murmured in noncommittal fashion, knowing the answer but not wanting to give his father time to try to convince him otherwise.

"Let me know after lunch, alright?" Light nodded as he headed up the steps, wondering if he would even remember something so insignificant when the day was done. When he paused in the break room, he realized that he hadn't brought his bag or his phone, which Soichiro had gotten from his apartment for him even if he hadn't even taken it out of the bag. Both items were still at his parents' house, so he was going to have to go back.

He would go back, but only for his things. There were trains to take him home, after all.

* * *

To say it was a bad day would be an understatement since Soichiro couldn't concentrate on anything his team was telling him. He nodded blankly to whatever they said until Aizawa got the hint and took them aside to discuss whatever issues they had. There was only one thought at the forefront of his mind.

_Light could be suicidal._

Light might have given up trying to become a detective because he didn't plan on _living_ any longer. It would explain his noncommittal attitude about everything, his lack of motivation, giving up on his goals, neglecting his health and his apartment, _everything_.

It had been the most uncomfortable thing in the world to question him like that this morning, for every fiber of his being was shouting that this couldn't be, the evidence had to be wrong. He was misinterpreting it! His perfect, genius son that everyone was so proud of could _not_ be dying!

However, there was only so much that he could lie to himself, so much to which he could turn a blind eye. He sighed, putting his elbows on the desk and resting his face in his hands.

It was all so clear now, but what could he do even _with_ the knowledge? Light had the appointment with the psychiatrist, but when was it? He should have asked. Light had to go, absolutely had to, because what could _he_ do? He was only Light's father, and he had never felt so helpless in his life.

Short of watching him every minute, there was ultimately nothing he could do to stop Light.

He couldn't tell his supervisor. Light didn't need a stigma like that hanging over him for the rest of his career if Soichiro was wrong, for a tiny part of him still hoped he had mis-read all the signs. Light had no roommates to warn about it, and telling Sachiko right now would only worry her unnecessarily, for she was even more ill-equipped to deal with this than he was since she wasn't even here.

The only thing he could do was talk to his son and reason with him. He had gotten Light to give him his word that he would do nothing, and he didn't think Light would do anything to violate his honor, but he did wonder how long it would hold out.

For now, he could insist that Light stay at the house with them since he seemed completely disinclined to argue with anyone, going along with whatever they said instead. He needed sleep and time with people more than near-starvation alone in his cold, neglected apartment.

At least, that's what he hoped Light needed. After all, what did he know about people who were suicidal? No one ever knew about them until their very public deaths made the news, or a family member found their remains and the information circulated in the rumor mill.

Just thinking about hearing about Light that way made him sick. Standing up, he grabbed his ever-present coffee mug and headed out to the main room, ostensibly to get coffee. In reality, he was making sure his son was still there working, as he had been the last two times Soichiro had checked.

Light was still there, his robotic, near-unblinking gaze fixed on his computer screen and his eyes blind to his presence several cubicles behind him. Soichiro waited, but nothing looked amiss.

Light was keeping his promise.

It saddened him to think that might be all that was keeping him alive. He had to find out what to do, and quickly.

* * *

The computer screen was growing fuzzy in front of his eyes. Light hadn't slept nearly enough the night before, and despite all the caffeine he was taking in, it wasn't getting any easier to stay awake.

He stifled a yawn and stared to the side at the paper copies of the report he was filing. The writing had become indecipherable. He blinked wearily to clear his vision, but his eyes never reopened as he felt his head lean toward the papers he had been looking at, dragging his body with it.

_Cold. Everywhere._

His eyes flew open, and Ryuzaki's face mocked him from his perch high above.

"Change your mind yet?" Light's own voice asked as the black-haired man held out a pale hand, but Light shook his head vehemently, squeezing his eyes shut to the sight of someone seeing him like this.

The office snapped back into existence when he opened his eyes, and he caught himself hastily on the desk before his forehead smashed against it. He stared around, disoriented, the papers and his computer looking out of place when he had expected swamp scum and storm clouds.

 _Swamp_...? The thought faded swiftly until all he could recall was nodding off at his desk. He stood, having to steady himself against his chair, before deciding that he needed a walk to the water cooler to wake himself up. His stomach couldn't take any more coffee.

Once he had filled a cup and was waking himself up with the frigid water, he decided that he had to get back to his own place tonight after work, mainly so he wouldn't have to make any excuses as to why he was going to sleep so early. He was exhausted.

* * *

There was a child squalling behind him. Light fixed his eyes on the other side of the underground train tunnel and tried to ignore it, for the noise was like a jackhammer going off right beside him with the headache he had. He gripped his bag a little tighter in one hand and stuck the other in the pocket of his coat, finding his wallet in there and worrying at it with his nails because he needed something to do until the noise stopped.

His father had not been pleased with his decision to go back to his apartment after picking up his things from the house, but he had promised to come back the next day for his birthday. Using the word "promise" with his father had gotten the point across that he wasn't taking it _that_ lightly and wasn't going to break it like every other noncommittal comment he made. Surely he could withstand a few hours with his family to ease their consciences about his absence and emotional distance.

He really just agreed to come because he thought his father would show up at his apartment otherwise and demand to know more about his mental state. He didn't really care about his birthday, and he didn't see why anyone else did either. So he was... twenty-thr- twenty- _four_ tomorrow. What did that matter?

His gaze fell as the child finally shushed, and he found himself staring at the white line before him, the implied barrier between passengers such as himself and the narrow strip of platform before the dropoff to the tracks. Given the crush of people at the train stations during rush hours, the line was probably supposed to keep people from getting pushed off the platform. His gaze traveled over the line, dropping and moving across the track, catching the glint of light on each rail and the random scatter of trash before moving up the dust-covered opposite wall and back up to where he had been staring before.

People jumped in front of trains all the time.

This train station wasn't part of the _shinkansen_ , but even if the train was only traveling at 60 or 70 miles per hour, they surely died.

As if reading his thoughts, the faint sound of the train coming up the tunnel reached his ears.

The announcer's voice warned them that this train was not stopping and would only be passing through, so passengers were advised not to approach the line.

The child started screaming again as the rumble rose in volume, but his mind stopped registering the noise as he focused on the roar. All around him, the chatter of other bystanders and the announcer's voice died away until all he could hear was the shriek of the train slicing through the air around it, the high-pitched sound reduced to bass thunder by the walls around it. The wind forced from the tunnel feathered his hair against his face.

The toes of his shoes were barely an inch from the white line.

Two steps would take him clear over the edge of the platform onto the tracks.

If he waited long enough before stepping off, no one would risk trying to save him because their own lives would be in danger. It would be fast, so fast. The tracks were narrow; there would be little question of his survival since there was nowhere his body could be thrown after he was struck. It would go right over the top of him.

Two steps, and he could end it. A few seconds of agony compared to a lifetime of misery? The choice was easy.

His eyes turned slowly to where the tunnel's mouth yawned to his right. The ground was starting to vibrate under his feet, and he could feel his legs start to tremble with anticipation, his muscles preparing to take him the two steps to his salvation. The whole world was narrowing to that distant maw, and he thought he could see a light within the depths, the light at the end of his tunnel, or rather, the train coming his way. His doom, roaring as it bounded toward him on lion's feet that shook the earth beneath him, its jaws eager to claim one more wasted life, one more sacrifice. His head turned of its own will, looking it in the eyes, unafraid.

His promises to his father forgotten, he felt his breath quickening, adrenaline coursing through his veins and making him shiver as a sudden cold raced down his spine. His mouth went dry, his eyes dilating until he nearly went blind with the light from the train. A rainbow of colors burned his unblinking eyes, scoring into his retinas, every sense heightened until the train's approach, the lion's roar, made every nerve stand on end, electricity crackling along his body and the wind sandpapering his exposed skin as his hair whipped him in the face.

There it was! The blue and red paint atop the battleship gray metal appeared as the tunnel birthed the train, the nose of it barely breaking through into the train station as the wind suddenly died, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

His stomach bottomed out as he took the first step, the heel of his left shoe landing on the white line. No more nightmares, no more nausea, headaches, bills, or pointless conversations. So close, he could taste his freedom.

It tasted of iron in his mouth.

**_STOP!_ **

Every muscle locked up, his eyes still fixed on the train that rushed closer. The noise of it nearing him didn't diminish the echo of that scream reverberating through his skull. His muscles refused to unbend, and his heart started palpitating as he saw the train coming too close. If he didn't move now, he wouldn't make it onto the tracks in time.

_Move, dammit!_

He willed his foot to take the extra step, but it caught, stuck.

The one second was all the behemoth needed to rush by him, the myriad lines along its hull blurring into streaks only a foot in front of him. He could see the vague shapes of people slipping by so quickly on the other side of the glass, hear the fainter hiss of air along the sides of the train.

_No..._

It felt like minutes before he breathed again, when the very end of the train passed by him and left him standing there, still on the white line and staring after it, his muscles shaking with thwarted tension.

"Sir?" The voice jarred him back into breathing, and his knees almost went to jelly when the tension slithered out of him. There was blood in his mouth; he had bitten though the side of his tongue.

"Sir? You need to step back. Didn't you hear the announcement?" It was a security guard, staring none-too-happily at him from several feet away. Light blinked as though coming awake and stepped back automatically, his throat so tightly constricted that he couldn't even get out the expected apology. As he lifted his right foot, a faint pop sounded, and he glanced down as the man continued.

"The next train coming through will be stopping here. Please stay behind the line until then." Light nodded, and the man left.

There was a piece of gum stuck to the sole of his shoe. Of all things, a piece of gum, faintly pink and gray with age, had saved his life, or damned him to live, rather.

Everything felt unreal after the tragic insignificance of that.

He had the absurd urge to both laugh and cry right then as he came down with a crash from the adrenaline high. The colors fled from everything, the noise of people talking and buying food and cursing the lack of a cell phone signal dulled into the background static he was so accustomed to, and the strength in his limbs bled away until he almost sat down on the ground when the energy fled him.

"You have a hundred million yen?" The voice was close enough to him that he wondered if it was him being addressed. "Yes, I'm talking to you."

He turned incredulously, his mind unable to keep up with everything he had put it through in the last few minutes. There was a girl standing about six feet away. Normally nothing would register about her appearance given his interest in the world around him, but her blond hair and the fact that she was wearing sunglasses while underground stuck out.

"No," he said shortly, vaguely interested in what she was getting at. That was a lot of money to panhandle for, but she didn't look like she was armed and about to rob him, in public no less.

"Does your family?" _What the hell?_

"Why does it matter?"

She shrugged, the black vinyl on her shoulders catching the light overhead. "S'what the trains will sue your family for to scrape you off the tracks." She looked in his direction, pulling the edges of her glasses down slightly so her eyes could meet his. "Just a thought, Yagami-kun."

* * *

Light didn't recall the train ride or the walk home. All he knew was that he was inside his apartment, his dark, chilly, dirty apartment, leaning against the front door and wondering how he'd gotten here.

His mind was going a hundred million miles per hour and going nowhere. After the girl left, he must have boarded the train, but the details were gone, like his body was running on autopilot and his mind wasn't keeping up. Having been the class representative and the top student at Todai, it was no wonder someone he didn't recognize knew his name, but the fact that she _knew_ what he had been about to do galled him.

What he had been about to _do_ made him sick as well.

Light hung his keys on the hook inside the door, the pieces of metal making strange music as his hands shook. He peeled off his coat and dropped it right on the floor atop the puddles the melted snow was making at his feet. Kicking his shoes off, he stepped into the apartment and didn't bother with a light, knowing the path to his bedroom by heart.

His nerves were shot. His hands trembled and he had a hard time walking without worrying that his legs were going to give out on him. Stumbling into his bedroom, he shucked off his clothes and pulled on his nightshirt with unusually jerky motions, forgoing his nightly routine and his pants for the solace of his bed as he climbed into it.

Pulling the covers up against the chill, Light wondered briefly at the fragments of thought running around inside his head. Something about his wallet, tomorrow night, his rent check... He brushed the thoughts away and closed his eyes, none of it important so much as sleeping and making it all go away for a few hours.

He thought it would take hours to fall asleep, but maybe the tension had exhausted him, for he fell swiftly into slumber, and an all-too-familiar dream.

When his eyes opened to the stormy skies and Ryuzaki's face, he wasted no time.

"Why are you here?" he shouted up at the other man, treading water fiercely to keep the cloak from dragging him down. Ryuzaki feigned thoughtfulness, putting a finger into the corner of his mouth as his feet dangled over the lip of rock.

"Oh, I don't know." The casual sarcasm of Light's voice sounded odd in this place. "Maybe because you essentially told your father that he couldn't save you and to quit trying. Maybe I'll be more effective at getting you to give up what's killing you."

"Why would I want to give it up?!" Light laughed, a hysterical shriek forced out of him from the effort of staying afloat when his legs were getting tangled up. "I _want_ to die! I'm tired of this."

"I don't think drowning scares you anymore. Remember this?" Ryuzaki ignored his words and gestured curtly, the landscape seeming to superimpose over a train station, flickering in and out of existence.

The other man was still perched above him, but this time his toes curled over the edge of the platform. There was no roof, only the same roiling skies, but the wind whipped more fiercely through here, and thunder began to roll in a steadily building crescendo. As he blinked, the rocks and the swamp flickered atop the vision of the platform, and his mind couldn't comprehend the two coexisting.

Light felt both the cold water around him as well as the hardness of the rails and tracks beneath his bare knees and palms where he knelt a few yards from Ryuzaki's position. The platform was too high for him to pull himself out of here, and no stairs led to where he was. He tried to wrap the incredibly heavy, sodden cloak around him and hunker down to hide himself, at the same time feeling as though he was fighting being pulled underwater. The two sensations were confusing.

A piercing whistle sounded over the thunder, and he looked to the left to see that a glimmer of light was showing in the darkness of the tunnel, a single eye watching him as whatever it belonged to drew closer.

"Why are _you_ here? You didn't answer my question." Light forced his eyes away from the light and looked up at Ryuzaki again, trying to hold the cloak tighter around himself while treading water and staying put on the railroad ties, unafraid.

"I'm amazed you can carry on a conversation at a time like this." Ryuzaki's near-indistinguishable eyebrows raised under the shock of dark hair.

"It's not real. I'm not afraid." Light gasped as he partially sucked in water, coughing as he bent over the trembling tracks, feeling the vibration rattling in his bones as the train's blackened face appeared in his peripheral vision.

"Really? Then why didn't you jump today?" Before he could answer, the other man interrupted. "And don't tell me your foot was stuck. It was gum, you could have gotten free if you'd tried."

Light burst out in demented mirth, all the day's events finally catching up to him, and he laughed so hard that it was hard to stay afloat.

"You know, I don't know anymore."

"It's because you don't really want to die. Face it." Ryuzaki nearly spat the words, and Light glanced up at the sharpness of his own voice, which sounded much like the one that berated him constantly throughout the day.

"Stay there; let the train hit you. Until you stop lying to yourself, you can dream this dream every night until you die of natural causes." Ryuzaki laughed harshly, a cruel sound completely unlike Light's near-hysterical giggles. "If you think drowning is bad, try getting struck by a train."

Light swallowed, glancing over at the monster he had been trying to ignore as it seemed to bear down on him in slow-motion, yet careen toward him so quickly it took his breath away.

He felt the rails shake beneath him, pitching like a ship in a storm, the waves churning around him at the same time. His jaw clenched tightly, his stomach knotting as his muscles cramped with growing tension. Fear's icy touch ran all along him as he stared death in the face, willing himself not to break and run since this was what he wanted, wasn't it?

"All you have to do is take my hand," Ryuzaki droned exasperatedly, his voice clearly sounding off to Light's right. "It will be over with, I promise."

The train was only a few feet away, its hot breath striking him full in the face as the overheated metal came too close to him. He couldn't breathe, trying so hard to stay put but wondering what would happen if he did reach for the man's hand.

Swallowing hard, he clutched so tightly at the cloak around him, the only thing hiding his shame from a stranger's eyes, that he could hear it tearing at one shoulder. It was already full of holes, and he was ruining it further. He was mortified at the thought of being seen naked by anyone, especially a stranger like Ryuzaki.

Blinking, he was in the water again, fighting the undertow. Why was he fighting it? Why didn't he just let it take him, if he was so set on dying?

His eyes still fixed on the train and on the floating scum in front of him, he took a deep breath, intending to close his eyes until it was all over.

Instead, every muscle in him bunched and flexed as he threw himself to the side, out of the direct path of the train and right into the wall, scrambling to his feet heedless of the cloak tangling around him. His breath came in ragged gasps that felt like they were shredding his throat and lungs with the ferocity of his breathing.

He leaped up, scratching his fingernails across the cement platform before he dropped back into the water. Its chill made his motions fevered, almost crazed, as he kicked fiercely and reached for Ryuzaki's hand, trying desperately now not to think lest his own thoughts defeat him. The whole world shrank to the fingertips that clawed frantically, trying to catch hold of the air itself and pull himself up toward safety.

Ryuzaki's cold fingers gripped his, the distance between them gone, and he pulled.

The thunder stopped so suddenly that the absence of sound struck him like a blow. The train was gone, along with the train station. He was on his hands and knees in his dark brown suit with his best shoes on, completely dry. He looked, surprised, at his hands, running his fingers along his arms because he didn't believe his eyes. There was nothing strangling him, and there was nothing to indicate that a second ago, he had been near-drowning and naked as well.

"This was killing you, you know?" his voice sounded above him, and he looked up at Ryuzaki, whom he hadn't even noticed was standing right in front of him. The man stood there, clutching a sudden mass of tattered cloth that was vaguely purple in color. Ryuzaki looked off into the distance and heaved the dripping mess off the edge of the rock, not even watching it drop into the depths below as he turned back to Light.

"It's about time you got rid of that." He put out a hand, and Light took it, surprised at his lack of resistance to accepting help. The other man pulled him to his feet, but Ryuzaki didn't let go of his hand immediately. Light looked up from their joined hands questioningly.

"You're not done yet, but you know what you have to do next." With that, Ryuzaki put his other hand over Light's eyes.

Light brushed the hand away and found no resistance. He was lying in his bed, his heart not racing like it usually was when he woke up.

He remembered everything. The whole series of nightmare after vivid nightmare leading up to tonight as well as what it all meant. It still felt like a dream as he sat up, filled with a shallow semblance of peace now that he knew exactly what he had to do. Sliding his covers off, he padded softly toward the kitchen and the front door, where his wallet lay inside his coat pocket. He picked it out of the puddle it was sitting in and hung the coat on the wall, retrieving his wallet as he did so.

He had never tried to memorize the numbers, never thinking he would have any reason to do so. He pulled the cell phone out of his overnight bag and flicked it open. The display read 3:50 AM, and it had enough battery power to make the call, and that was all he needed. Refusing to think about the possibility that he would be a nuisance, that the job might be long gone, or even what time it was wherever they were, he pulled the worn card out of the wallet and dialed the number before his hands could start shaking.

Before he could start thinking.

* * *

Wammy glanced in the rear-view mirror to see if L's continued silence was what he thought it was. The boy had been growing increasingly antsy over the last few days as cases of interest to him refused to come in, and Wammy had mostly been waiting for L to decide to leave the country again or something similar.

L didn't handle boredom very well.

He was sound asleep right now, his head resting against the cushions on the back of the seats. They had only been driving about an hour, and Wammy had something of a route worked out to take them through the countryside whenever L asked him to do this. The sun was just starting to set, the sky was clear and the air colder as a result, but it was a beautiful day for a drive. It was a relaxing hobby for him as well as L, and anything he could do for this dearest of his adopted children was worth doing if it comforted him.

Well, almost anything. Despite the fact that he knew it riled L, he had tried a few times to broach the subject of finding someone to train, another one of the children perhaps, but L was reluctant. His pride had taken a serious blow when he had failed to get Light Yagami to work with them, and L was of the opinion that none of the children would do. He claimed they were too sheltered and too accustomed to being treated like they were special, cushioned from the rigors of the outside world.

Wammy thought he was making excuses because deep down, he had really set his eyes on that one lonely Japanese boy and refused to be deterred, whether it was only in his subconscious or not. Light's situation, while almost completely different from Mello's, was similar enough that L, likely unwittingly, was trying to make up for past mistakes with him.

L wanted to save Light because he felt responsible for Mello's fate, and he had been far closer to L than any of the other children they lost. Mello had been one of his heirs, after all.

His personal phone rang softly beside him, and he quickly depressed the button that would raise the window between the passenger cabin and himself so he wouldn't disturb L. When he glanced at the caller ID, he stared at it so long that he had to look up to make sure the car wasn't going into the ditch as he picked it up. It was not anyone from Wammy House calling, and only one other person had his personal number.

As if Light was summoned by Wammy's thoughts...

"Hello?" he said in English, letting the boy do the introductions if he wanted. The other end of the line was silent for a moment.

"Hello... is this Watari-san? It's Light-" The voice was hesitant. He sounded odd, but perhaps it was only because he was speaking English.

"Yagami-kun, yes, it's me." He went back to Japanese, hardly able to believe it was really him. He'd almost given up on him ever calling months ago, but every time he checked on Light by looking up the directory of NPA agents, his name was there. That meant he was still alive, and that meant there was hope.

The other end stayed silent for another moment.

"I'm interested in the job, if it's still open." Light had followed his lead and gone back to Japanese. It had been a long time since they had spoken, but Light's voice still sounded off.

"It is." He felt a smile pulling itself across his features. "It's good to hear your voice, Yagami-kun."

"Hnn," Light murmured in assent, seemingly unsure what to say next.

"I'm going to tell Ryuzaki, if that's alright. He's with me."

"Go ahead."

"One moment," he said as he put the boy on hold and lowered the window. L's eyes were open and unfogged with sleep, that uncanny habit of waking completely whenever he opened his eyes manifesting.

"Who was that?" L hadn't been able to hear him since the window was mostly soundproof. L had wanted Wammy to be able to listen to music or converse on the phone while driving without interfering with L's activities in the back.

"Light Yagami," he said simply. "He's still on the line, and he wants the job."

"He called you?" L leaned forward, unbuckling his seatbelt so he could reach for the phone, his mind surely going through the conversation already.

"He did." Wammy slowed to a stop at the stop sign and gave L a meaningful glance at he handed the phone over. "Be careful, L."

* * *

L brushed away the remnants of sleep that didn't show on his features and schooled his expression to nothingness as he picked up the phone. Depressing the key to take Light off hold, he wondered briefly how Light had even called Wammy. Had the man given Light his own phone number? He frowned slightly at the thought of Wammy going behind his back to communicate with Light, but he supposed that it didn't matter right now.

"Light-kun," he said by way of greeting.

"Ryuzaki?" the voice was only mildly surprised.

"Do you want the job?"

"Yes." The answer was immediate. Light was certain about this, and had finally stopped being so noncommittal about everything.

"The nearest international airport to you is Tokyo, correct?"

"Yes."

"Be there at noon, your time. Bring whatever you want with you for a year that you can carry." He opened up the laptop that he kept in the car and started it up as they spoke. "I'll contact you in an hour with further details. Is this a good number for you?"

"Yes." L waited for the inevitable protests that this was too fast, or the questions about how he would pay for it, but nothing came. Light was just taking orders.

Wammy had pulled the car over to the side of the road, and he gestured to get L's attention, making a downright angry face by way of warning him about his behavior.

"Don't be so forceful," he signed at L, his expression making the gestures more emphatic.

"I'm-" _sorry? No I'm not._ "If this is too sudden, tell me, but I want to know if you're serious about this, Light-kun."

"If you told me to be there in an hour with nothing, I would still be there." Light's words came out in a deadpan. He sounded tired. "I'm serious."

"That's not necessary. I'll contact you in an hour, then."

"Alright." L waited for a moment, but Light had nothing more to say than that. Perhaps he was still struggling with depression for him to sound so tired and not question him about anything. At least he was willing to train. Light had been his best candidate, and L told himself that if Light would only accept his tutoring, L could make him into a suitable partner.

He hung up the phone and handed it back to Wammy.

"He sounds different," he mused aloud.

"He's a year older. Maybe he's ill."

"It's possible." L started looking into flight information, trying to find a direct flight from Tokyo to Heathrow around 2 PM Tokyo time. Light had said that he hadn't flown outside the country before, and he wanted to minimize the number of stops that Light would have to make.

After this, he would contact the director of the NPA and tell him that he was indefinitely requisitioning one of his officers. He was on good terms with the NPA, so they weren't likely to get that upset about it. It wasn't unheard of for him to borrow agents, so Light's absence wouldn't make them immediately start wondering if Light was now working for him.

As he lost himself in the details of planning for Light's arrival, his earlier boredom and restlessness vanished, as though he had found purpose.

It was a good feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once, lots happened in the longest chapter yet for this fic, and it wasn't near-total angst. I have open-ended questions for you, if you'll humor me.
> 
> Did you see this coming, or did it surprise you, to some degree? How?
> 
> Is Light cured? What do you think is in store for him?
> 
> What were your thoughts on Soichiro and his reaction to and discovery of Light's thoughts?
> 
> Is anything the characters are doing incredibly unbelievable? Why?
> 
> Edit - Does no one really know who the woman is? (Was I too subtle? It's Misa!)
> 
> Did anyone catch the fudged Metallica lyrics? (just kidding)
> 
> If anyone wants an idea of the sort of feedback I'm looking for, that's it.


	21. Revelation

The line went dead in Light's ear, and he closed his phone slowly and deliberately. The silence in his head and in the apartment was absolute, lending the whole situation an air of unusual solemnity.

_He did it._

He had finally asked for help. The phone found its way onto his unmade bed, somehow, and his bare feet carried him to the closet in the hall where his suitcase was stored. Back into the bedroom with it, and he mechanically began opening drawers in his dresser and taking down suits from his closet, meticulously packing them into it to maximize the space he had. One suitcase and his briefcase should be enough. His clothes and his laptop would suffice, since Ryuzaki wasn't likely to require his textbooks or other reading materials.

Before he could stop to really think about what he was doing, he gathered up the clothes along with his toothbrush, comb, shampoo, and the like. It wouldn't do to start contemplating leaving the country and find that he had changed his mind. Not now, not when he had finally made the choice to start changing things.

The cold in his apartment hardly registered despite the fact that he was still wandering around in only his nightshirt. He had closed and locked the suitcase and headed into the kitchen to make coffee when the phone's trill sounded. He answered before he could start dreading speaking on the phone, not surprised to find the number was blocked. It took a moment to remember what he was even supposed to say when answering the phone, so all that came out was a lame-sounding "Hello?" Somehow pathetic English was still better than a falsely perky 'moshi moshi?'

"Light-kun! I have your flight information." Ryuzaki had ignored Light's English and continued in Japanese. It was somehow better to hear the other man's strange voice rather than his own wearing Ryuzaki's skin in his dreams.

"Ryuzaki, wait." Something had just occurred to him, surprisingly, for it should have been the first thing he thought of. "What do I need to tell my boss? About-"

"Nothing. I've already spoken to him." Light blinked in surprise.

"Oh."

"He believes you are being borrowed to work on a case for _my_ boss. It's taken care of. Have you flown anywhere yet?"

"No." It was mildly confusing now to deal with Ryuzaki's disjointed conversation, since he was a year out of practice and his wits had been ground dull against the NPA's mindless workload. His mind was still sleep-fogged without caffeine as well.

"I was able to get you a direct flight from Tokyo to Heathrow, so at least you won't have any stops. You'll just need to have your passport and go through customs when you get here, then look for Watari in the main baggage claim area. He'll be in a dark suit with a fedora, not the butler outfit you last saw him in. If you don't see him, call the number he gave you on a pay phone."

"Alright." Was he really doing this? Really leaving the country to work with people who were little more than strangers to him?

He shut down that train of thought before it could make him start doubting.

_Heh. Train._

He could hear another man's voice faintly in the background, and it might have been Watari's, but he couldn't make out the words.

"What have you told your family?" Ryuzaki surprised him with another off-the-wall inquiry.

"Nothing," Light said before the question really registered.

"Watari would like you to be sure to tie up loose ends with them without being too specific, mainly so we aren't suspected of kidnapping you." Light felt a half-smile form at the thought and he pulled out a pad of paper and a pen.

"I'll tell them something. What's my flight information?"

"It departs at 2:15, rather 1415, flight #2459 from Gate A6. It's a 13 hour and 45 minute flight, you get dinner and breakfast, and you'll land here at 1900 that same day."

"And..." Light paused, not wanting to sound rude as he wrote the numbers down. "I'm sorry I didn't ask earlier, but... the ticket-"

"Don't, Light-kun. We're hiring you, at least for the next year, so we'll pay for anything related to your training." Light felt his face color slightly at the thought that he might have insulted him, but a ticket like that could well be half a million yen or more. He had plenty of money in savings, mainly because he hadn't been spending any of it on anything other than bills, but a ticket to London that same day? It must have cost a fortune.

Speaking of pay, was Ryuzaki implying he would be earning a paycheck during this training because he was 'hired'? The thought hadn't even crossed his mind. He thought room and board would be his only compensation; though his lack of concern for even finding out the arrangements would have alarmed him in years past, now he brushed it off.

"Should I bring anything in particular?"

"Only what you want for yourself."

"Alright. I'll see you later today, then." There didn't seem to be any more to say now that things were decided.

"Yes, today." The line was silent for a moment, but Light had the feeling there was more to the conversation and didn't hang up just yet. Ryuzaki's voice sounded different when he asked after a time, "Light-kun?"

"Yes?" He waited, but again, no sound was forthcoming for several moments.

"Bye." The line went dead abruptly. He looked at it, puzzled, before putting it in his briefcase. Ryuzaki had _no_ concept of socially acceptable behavior, still. Hopefully his frank disregard for social norms would be refreshing rather than merely abrasive in the future.

A few minutes later the sound of his coffeepot gurgling to life mingled with the rich smell of coffee. He stood in the kitchen, staring half-seeing out the small window over the sink as he waiting for his breakfast to finish brewing. It was still quite dark outside with wintry dawn hours away, but he was too awake to go back to sleep. Fingers curled around the chilly lip of the sink as he contemplated what to do until he could get to the airport.

He could shower after this and get dressed, then go see his parents. He owed them an explanation, if nothing else, for missing his birthday with them.

Some way to celebrate his birthday, setting out on an international journey to go train for something that he hadn't even asked for details about. It was a thousand times better than staying here, though, so in a way, this was the most significant thing he had done in years.

One cup of steaming coffee and a long shower later, he had dressed in what he hoped was comfortable traveling clothes, his briefcase and suitcase waiting by the door. So few things, but without his books, he didn't really have anything in his apartment. It had stayed so empty, merely becoming a place to exist between shifts at work. He would ask his parents to have someone pack up his things for him since there was so little to store.

It was only about 6 AM, but he picked up the phone he hadn't handled so frequently in months and dialed his father's number, wanting to get this part of his trip over with as he knelt before the refrigerator. He pulled out the food that would spoil and tossed it in the trash while listening to the phone ring. He had already stopped feeling attached to this place, ready to say goodbye to it all.

"Son?" his father was wide awake, which made sense, since he would be leaving for work in less than an hour.

"Father, I need to speak with you. Could I come home?"

"O-of course. Do you need me to come get you?"

"I'll take a taxi. I'll be home soon."

"Alright, son. Just... be careful."

"I'll see you later." Light disconnected and called Information before he could change his mind, asking for a taxi service and arranging to get picked up. He was in no mood to deal with buses and the trains would be starting to get packed with students and other commuters already. With any luck, maybe the United Kingdom would be less crowded.

It occurred to him that he hadn't even contemplated _where_ he was going. He had guessed that Ryuzaki had an English background given how he spoke the language, but flying to Heathrow had confirmed the location, unless there were further stops along the way that he wasn't telling Light about.

Shrugging slightly, he decided that it really didn't matter as he buttoned a khaki-colored coat over his thinner clothes, shouldered his bags, and headed downstairs after closing and locking the door to his old life behind him.

* * *

Soichiro kept checking out the window in the kitchen for a glimpse of Light coming. It was only a feeling, but he had ignored his gut instincts for too long when dealing with his son, and something was telling him that whatever Light was coming for was significant. After all, when was the last time Light had come home of his own volition? Probably months ago, when he had come home for Sayu's birthday. He smiled sardonically, thinking that if his family had more birthdays they would see more of each other.

Sachiko had caught on to his tension and was fluttering about the kitchen, as lost as himself as to why Light was coming home in the morning. She had put together a small breakfast for him out of the leftovers since they both doubted he had eaten anything. Sayu was probably still asleep since she had been up late studying for an exam that day, and Soichiro wondered if it was worth waking her for, but ultimately decided to wait for Light to arrive.

Finally, a taxi stopped outside their house, and to his surprise, Light dragged out his laptop bag and a suitcase before paying the driver. Was he moving back in? Surely not, for his son never did something so impetuous no matter how much Soichiro might have wanted that.

He slipped on his regular shoes to go outside and help Light in case he had more to carry, but when he opened the door, Light was already there, his hand raised to knock. He paused before running the hand through his hair and glancing to the side.

"Can I come in?"

"Y-yes, come in, son. Have you had breakfast?" Of all the things he could ask, this was the least important, but it was so much easier to take care of basic needs than actually ask what was going on. It was instinctual to avoid the messy emotional issues and take care of the survival ones. He picked up the suitcase waiting by Light's side and carried it in before Light could take it.

"Not yet," his son stepped inside, not yet removing his coat or shoes. He seemed incredibly uncomfortable, but his voice betrayed nothing. "Can we talk?"

"Sure. Do you- where do you want to-?" Soichiro wasn't prepared for this, and it probably showed in how awkward he sounded. His palms were getting sweaty as well. He might be a cop, willing to handle a gun to defend strangers and face down criminals, but he was ill-equipped for even a simple conversation with his genius son.

"Why don't you two go in the living room?" Sachiko took over, stepping from her place unnoticed behind him. "I'll bring you something to eat, Light. Coffee?"

"Please," he said immediately.

"Do you want just your father, or should I wake Sayu?" Soichiro looked over at her gratefully.

"Go ahead and wake her. I have a lot to say and I only want to say it once." Light only sounded tired, not willing to waste words. Sachiko patted his arm just for a moment before stepping away. Light glanced overlong at his arm before Soichiro held out a hand for his coat, waking him out of his reverie.

"This probably isn't the time to say it, but happy birthday, Light." A flicker of mixed bemusement and disbelief passed across his face, and Soichiro wondered again how his son had become such a stranger. Nothing about him looked familiar anymore; his smile was hollow and his eyes were dead, non-reactive.

"Thanks, Dad." He left his shoes by the door and followed Soichiro into the living room. Not liking the quiet, but knowing Light wouldn't want to explain himself more than once, he turned on the television to cover up the silence, watching the familiar news scroll by as they waited for Sayu and Sachiko.

Sachiko brought a smaller breakfast than the rest of them had eaten, since she too had seen how little Light ate, and they waited again in that awkward silence until Sayu came downstairs. She was still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, but she was wearing something other than her night clothes. There was something in her other hand, half-hidden behind her loose overshirt.

"Good morning, brother!" she greeted exuberantly in defiance of her just-woken state, stifling a yawn as she moved to the chair that Light was sitting in. "Happy twenty-fourth birthday," she lilted as she set the box in his lap now that he was done eating his meager breakfast.

"Thanks," Light replied, sounding as awkward as they all felt at the oddness.

"You can open it later. I just wanted to give it to you now," she assured him as she curled up in her favorite papasan. "What's going on?"

"Um," Light said, taking a sip of his coffee. "I should have asked this first, but can you have my things at the apartment packed up and put into storage?" This was vaguely directed at where Soichiro and Sachiko were sitting on the sofa, his eyes not really looking in their direction.

Sachiko started to ask something as she leaned forward, but Soichiro interrupted, "We can, or we can just put them back in your room here."

"Where are you going?" Sayu asked, her face drawn now with concern.

"I'll tell you, but first I needed to know if my things will be taken care of. I can pay for it. I need to have the lease canceled at my apartment too, since the office won't open for a few hours." Light wasn't looking at any of them, his gaze somewhere to the side of the now-muted television.

"I'll take care of it." Soichiro said decisively, trying to ignore the rising tension he could feel at the strangeness of this situation. "You don't have to pay."

Light nodded, and when he spoke again, his voice was inflectionless, as though he was reciting a speech. "Please don't interrupt me after this. I have a lot to say, and I need to get it out all at once or I won't be able to say it at all." Like pausing a movie, he could see his wife and daughter still, barely breathing, much like himself as he felt that knot of tension solidify into a near-painful cramp. Light rubbed at the longer hair lying on the back of his neck for a moment, but when he looked up, his demeanor changed completely. His eyes were intense, unblinking and fixed on Sachiko.

"Mother, years ago you said I might have a problem, and you were right. I do have depression; I've had it for years. I kept thinking it would get better when I graduated, went to college, or started work, but nothing made it easier to live with. After my graduation ceremony, I felt hopeless about the future because nothing was there anymore to distract me from it." He took a breath, his words coming out in a seeming breathless rush yet sounding nearly rehearsed as he recited it like a story about someone else.

"I never met Ryuzaki before that day, and he and his friend found me after I got sick and took me back to their hotel until they could contact you in the morning. Two weeks later, you know, Mother, that I went out and got drunk. I didn't know how to yet, but I knew that night that I wanted to kill myself. Not _now_ , Mother, _please_." His voice grew more strained on the last when a gasp wrung itself out of Sachiko's throat.

Soichiro didn't look, but he could hear whispered words that sounded like "my baby" before she covered her mouth with her hand. He could see Sayu's stricken look from the corner of his eye, but he blindly patted Sachiko's arm, unable to look away from the still completely detached look on his son's face. That knot of tension had burst, leaving him unable to do anything but sit and listen to this sick confession, any words he might have said somewhere far away as he sat there, powerless.

"Ryuzaki found me again that day. I'm sure he was looking for me that time, but he said he wanted to interview me for a job." Soichiro blinked, but the thought he had skittered away, chased away by his son's continuing dispassionate words. "We met for dinner the next day to talk about it, and not only did he know that I was suicidal, but he proved that my argument was flawed and I wouldn't go through with it. I turned the job down anyway because I didn't want his help. Right after that, I started at the NPA."

_Interview? What is significant about that word?_

"I'm sure you've noticed things have not gotten better in the last year, but Ryuzaki's assistant left me with his number in case I changed my mind, and this morning, I called Watari to-"

"Watari? _His name was **Watari?!**_ " He saw Sachiko jump at his interjection, but Light merely looked bored and slightly annoyed at being interrupted, his eyes focusing on him instead of his mother.

"That was the name he gave me. Do you know him?"

"No, I think it just sounded familiar," which was a complete lie. "Please go on, Light, I'm sorry."

"As I was saying, I just called Watari and said I wanted the job after all. Ryuzaki said for me to get to Tokyo International at noon, and I have a flight out this afternoon. I'll be gone for a year, it seems." He stopped, looking back at his coffee, seemingly finished speaking.

Silence reigned for a few moments while they digested the news.

"I thought I should let you know why I wasn't going to make dinner this evening, and not to worry." Light's dismissive listlessness was back.

Like bursting a bubble, their frozen forms broke.

"Not to worry?" Sachiko mimicked in a much higher, strangled voice. "Light, why- couldn't you have told us before it came to this?"

"There was nothing you could have done." There was no cruelty in his voice, only that weariness that pervaded his actions and showed in his sparing use of words. Light wasn't trying to hurt her, but he wasn't going to spare her feelings either.

Sachiko's hands wrung each other in her lap, and Soichiro knew her inability to fix the problem frustrated her, not to mention probably scared her since Light had been so miserable for so long. That had changed, since he had confessed this all to them, right? The fact that he had asked for help meant that things were going to change, so he didn't have to worry about Light dying by his own hand anymore... right?

Changing gears, he decided to find out if his growing suspicions were true.

"So, Light, you said that you had never met Ryuzaki before your graduation, a few days before he interviewed you?" Light shook his head as Sachiko looked at him questioningly for asking about something so trivial.

"No, he was a complete stranger."

"And Ryuzaki had someone with him named Watari?" Light nodded, his eyes still dull with disinterest. He searched back in his memory to when they had picked him up after he had been out all night. "Was Ryuzaki the boy we saw in the hotel with you? Dark hair and eyes, with no shoes?" Another nod.

"Do you know either of them? He said he heard about me from things you said at work, but you didn't recognize him."

"I think he worked there for a few days, but it's not important. He never said what the job was?"

"I still don't know, exactly, but I'm willing to try something new."

L had lied to him. He was certain of it.

Light flinched when Sayu appeared next to him, her hand resting on his arm. Neither of them had noticed her slipping out of her seat, but she surprised them all by saying nothing and just squeezing into Light's chair with him. She lay her head on his shoulder and just sat there, her eyes not meeting any of theirs. Light swallowed and looked uncomfortable, but he didn't push her away.

Soichiro took advantage of his distraction to review the evidence he had, the facts scrolling before his mind's eye. The timing was too perfect regarding L's own inquiry about being able to test Light, and Light's subsequent interview with a stranger a few days later. L had said that he would have no time to question him, but he wondered if he only lied because Light had said no and to keep him and Light from figuring out his identity if Light described his interviewer. The name Watari was too coincidental, and though Watari had been with Light, he had not come downstairs or given them a number with which to contact him when Light was in the hotel. Additionally, was someone as young and unkempt as Ryuzaki not only affluent enough for a room at one of the best hotels in Tokyo, but so unconcerned with his appearance that he would wander around such a place looking like that? He said he had heard about Light from work? Easily done, if he was listening on a computer.

It all made sense now. It was honestly shocking that the great, internationally famous detective L was someone so young, but it would make sense then for him to conceal his appearance, for who would take him seriously? He needed a much more imposing spokesman, like Watari, to be his face.

He smiled a little to himself and squeezed his wife's hand. Light turned his head to listen to something Sayu was saying, so he risked a glance at Sachiko to let her know things would be alright. If Light was going to train with the world's greatest detective, he would definitely get out of this slump and find something far more interesting to do with his life. It made him proud, and also made him more willing to let Light go despite the frightening suddenness of it all. She looked back at him a little unsurely, but ultimately trusting him.

After that, Soichiro called in to work to say that he would be in later that day since he had family matters to attend to. They did some preliminary arrangements for Light's things to be taken care of, for they would have to separate his few possessions from what had already been furnished in the apartment. Light didn't look or act any different than he had the day before, except for not making so many references to being tired, but he could be persuaded to talk sometimes, which was already an improvement.

Sayu hugged Light fiercely before she left for her exam, and Soichiro knew that if she hadn't had an important test that day, she would have happily ditched her classes. As it was, he saw the tears she wiped away as she left.

The morning was surreal. They were letting go of a formerly suicidal, still-depressed son and letting him go to a foreign country with almost no warning. Light was an adult and able to make his own decisions, but if Soichiro stopped to think about it, it was still alarming. His only consolation was who it was that was hiring him. Surely _L_ could be no fool.

He brushed aside Light's protests that he could get a taxi to the airport, and he and Sachiko loaded his meager belongings into the car and took him there, unwilling to let go of him any sooner than they must. He knew Light had never flown, but he would never have guessed as Light checked in and made all of his preparations. When questioned, Light admitted that the ticket had been bought for him, but he wouldn't let Soichiro see it to know where Light was going. Having worked in the intelligence field for years, Soichiro could understand the need for keeping some information from him, especially if it involved L.

When they stood near the entrance to the gates, ready to let Light truly go out into the world and out from under any shelter they could offer him as his parents, he pulled Light aside. Light had looked more than a little lost all morning since none of them were often physically affectionate with each other, especially him. Part of Light seemed too aloof, too untouchable for something like that, but his news as well as his sudden departure, on his birthday no less, had made the closeness much more important.

Even now, he seemed to be slowly working his sleeve out of Soichiro's grasp, so he let go of Light before he could get too uncomfortable. What he was going to do was probably wrong, but he couldn't help but think L deserved it for lying to him, a worried father with a very beloved son.

"Light, what I'm going to tell you is probably classified, and you can't ever tell anyone else unless he gives you leave to do so." Light stopped looking at the ground and met his gaze, recognizing the gravity of the situation.

Soichiro leaned in, unwilling to even give a random passerby access to the information.

"I thought you should know who you'll be working with. The one who's going to train you, this 'Ryuzaki'... Ryuzaki is _L_ , Light."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No face-to-face interaction between our favorite genii in this chapter, but good things come to those who wait (supposedly).


	22. Awkward

_L._

Where had he heard that letter? Why did it sound familiar?

Matsuda, that's right. Matsuda had mentioned that he was some famous detective who worked with police agencies all over the world without ever showing his face. He had never failed to solve a case, either. Light had never seen anything about him on the news or in the papers, only that odd comment from Matsuda. He was like a secret weapon only the inner circle of NPA detectives knew about...

That same circle he had never joined because he couldn't see a future beyond today and didn't want to waste any more effort. Of course he didn't know who this L was.

Well, if his father was right and Ryuzaki _was_ L, no wonder he didn't show his face, or his sloppy clothing and shoe-less feet, for that matter. He would be a laughingstock. So much for Matsuda's starry-eyed hero worship of someone likely younger than he was.

"The faceless detective? Is that who you mean?" he asked his father in a low voice to match Soichiro's own, and he nodded.

"I just wanted to let you know the scope of your training. I think it will be good for you, son." His father looked away a little sheepishly. "If he ever asks how you know, please tell him I know enough to never tell anyone else."

"I'll be quiet about it. He didn't want me to know, after all." He checked his watch, eager to finish this awkward goodbye. "I should go."

"I know." His father smiled and lightly clasped his shoulder. "I know you'll do well. Please don't hesitate to call if you need or want anything. We wouldn't mind just hearing from you either, since you'll be far away." Soichiro's voice was growing slightly strained, but he was doing a good job of hiding it and making it less uncomfortable for him. His mother had said more or less the same thing about calling, and he didn't know how often he could do that, but he didn't want to insult or offend them. These were his parents, after all. He should really have _some_ consideration for their feelings.

"I'll do what I can, Dad. Goodbye." He didn't move to hug him, since he'd had quite enough of physical contact for today, and it wasn't like him to do that. Soichiro just squeezed his shoulder and smiled wistfully.

"Goodbye for now, son."

Light turned and gave a final wave to his mother, whom he had already told farewell, and adjusted his laptop bag on his shoulder to give him something to do with his hands as he walked off.

From there, he had time to kill waiting for his flight to start boarding. Deciding to see if there was anything he could find on his dubious employer, though he doubted it, he opened his laptop and started searching.

'L' resulted in nothing other than discourses in various languages on that letter. 'L detective' in Japanese and English revealed nothing. He started typing in anything he could think of, his mind finding the abstract exercise almost invigorating for a time. 'Ryuzaki detective' brought up a random murder case from America, but that was the most interesting thing he came across, and it wasn't even related. Even though he expected the wall, after hitting it more than a few times, he gave up and shut the computer down.

So 'L' _was_ just a shadow detective that only the international police and intelligence "elite" would know about. Ultimately, the knowledge did little for him other than to explain what Ryuzaki did for a living. The little bit of information made him feel like he had an advantage over his abrasive future trainer, but he decided to tuck it away in case it ever became useful. It probably wouldn't be wise to show Ryuzaki, L, whoever, his entire hand up front since the man could read him anyway.

It would be the one bit of information he would keep private, just to see if he could do it.

As he looked out the windows at the planes moving across the tarmac, he wondered again exactly what he was getting into, working with someone who knew him that well without any overtures on Light's part. Light had given him no information, and Ryuzaki had pulled his conclusions out of the air.

It was like knowing a stranger was watching him in his sleep, watching Light wake up, eat, work, and go about about his day in complete ignorance, yet knowing his every thought.

It was... creepy.

* * *

15 hours later, a very sick, congested, and in pain Yagami Light stepped off the plane into his first foreign country. The newness of it was lost on him as he collected his bag and went through customs, trying to recall his English through the fog in his head.

Flying had not been unpleasant. He had not gotten airsick in the slightest, but he had been unprepared for exactly what pressure changes would do to his ears. Until he had noticed what the people around him were doing, it really hadn't occurred to him to swallow or chew gum or drink something like they were as the plane ascended. Instead, he had gritted his teeth at the feeling that someone had jabbed a burning hot fondue fork into both ears and twisted, wondering if this was the precursor to vomiting.

After drinking some water to get his ears to pop, he had enjoyed looking out at the clouds as they flew through them, then drifted higher and higher above them. It was amazing how small Japan had looked from up there. His entire life had been spent thus far on a collection of islands that was no bigger than his thumbnail.

If nothing else, the new perspective was humbling.

After that, he had gotten his first taste of airplane food and found it no less tolerable than microwavable meals, and he spent the rest of the flight either dozing or trying to focus on the in-flight movies. Ryuzaki had gotten him a business class seat, and he wondered, stretching his legs to enjoy the room, what it would have been like to sit in coach, or how much more luxurious first class was.

The first time he woke, he noticed that the headrest pushed his head forward and was giving him a headache, and after that, he found himself growing more and more congested at the recycled air as the flight wore on through the day, night, whatever it was. It never got dark, and he was completely lost as to what time it was when there was no night to tell him to sleep.

Therefore, it was now officially the longest day of his life when he finally exited customs and tried to get his bearings in the airport, blinking wearily at the signs directing him to the main baggage claim.

It was still his birthday, and the thought was amusing somewhere in the back of his head. He still hadn't opened Sayu's present. It was packed away carefully into his suitcase. Once he settled in, he would find out what it was, but he was in no hurry.

There were dark-suited men all over the place, and a few of them even had hats, but it was quite some time before he spotted Watari amidst the mobs of people moving through the area. He was almost to him before he saw the recognition dawn in the older man's eyes, along with a look of mild surprise.

"Hello, Yagami-kun. It's good to see you again." Thus began what would surely be more awkward introductions and re-introductions when all Light could think about was taking a shower and going to sleep in a real bed.

"Hello again, Watari-san. Thank you for having me, and for meeting me here." He extended his hand rather than bowing, acutely aware that he was no longer in Japan at the buzz of English all around him. He even kept his voice low to keep from standing out so much.

"The pleasure is all ours. You must be exhausted."

"Quite," Light said simply, and Watari smiled.

"Come with me, then. I'll take you to the school in the car, and we'll leave the introductions until tomorrow."

"I appreciate that," he said gratefully, surrendering his bag when Watari took the handle of his suitcase and rolled it away before he could protest. Keeping one eye on the older man's back, he kept looking around at his surroundings, trying to take in what he could before his mind called it quits and went to sleep on him. What he wouldn't give for a whole bottle of Tylenol. Or Vicodin.

Watari had the same car here that he had used in Japan, but Light wasn't interested enough in asking how he got it from place to place. _L_ probably had a private jet or something equally ridiculous, though _Ryuzaki_ didn't have enough to buy a pair of proper shoes. The dichotomy between the two personalities was preposterous.

Watari didn't ask him many more questions, and those were only about how his flight was and if he had any problems. He knew that he said something in response to each inquiry, but he doubted it was anything highly intelligent. At this point, he was running on autopilot until he could get some decent sleep. The already darkened city went by in a blur, the new scenery and the fact that things seemed so much more spread out merely flickering, unregistered, in front of his incredibly bloodshot and dry eyes. He hadn't had any caffeine since breakfast that morning, and without it, he was completely wasted.

Now that it was finally night, he found himself struggling just to put one foot in front of the other when Watari woke him from a light doze in the backseat. Somehow, he had taken both Light's suitcase and his laptop bag, leaving Light responsible only for getting himself out of the vehicle.

Blinking in the chilly night air, he noticed the wrought iron gate that they must have passed through while he was half-asleep. Its curves were backlit from the streetlamps, dusted with snow that was still lightly falling. He shook the wet flakes out of his hair and off his eyelashes, turning to look at the large, indistinct building they were parked in front of. It was almost entirely in darkness except for a single light over the front door and a few windows that weren't completely covered with curtains. Watari had left the car in a garage that was separate from the only building he could see through the dimness, but he thought he could see either more wings or more buildings, if the lit windows that seemed to be floating above the snow were any indication.

It was getting hard to see at all anymore, and he stopped trying to figure things out and just crunched through the shallow snow after Watari. All sound seemed strangely muffled, and he couldn't tell if that was just the nature of the snow blanketing everything, or if they were far removed from their neighbors.

"Welcome to Wammy House," Watari said as they came to the front door, and the older man pulled keys from his pocket. "All you need to know for now is that this is where you'll be doing some, if not most, of your training. I'll show you to your room unless you want something to eat, and no one will bother you until morning."

"Sounds wonderful," he murmured as Watari opened the door, throwing a warmer yellow light over them.

"I thought you would rather do that than meet everyone and get tours and the like. You might hear children, since there are some here, but they're quiet." Watari closed the door behind them and took off his scarf and gloves, hanging them by the door. There were a multitude of hooks along the wall, and Light was momentarily taken aback at how many coats might be expected to hang there.

"Do you want anything from the kitchen? Or would you rather go to your room?"

"If there's a shower in the room, I'd just like to go there." He barely stifled the yawn that tried to escape, and Watari smiled and motioned for him to follow. Light scrubbed his shoes off as well as he could on the rough carpet inside the door, feeling odd leaving his shoes on, though it would have been even stranger to walk around barefoot.

The halls Watari led them through were mostly hardwood, though some had runners of dark red, blue, or brown carpet up the middle. They passed the entrances to several other wings, but Watari didn't waste time explaining them, for which Light was grateful. Most doors were closed, but a few were open and noise from televisions or younger people talking spilled out, but as Watari had said, it was fairly quiet. There wasn't even anyone wandering the halls right now. Once or twice, he thought he could see eyes peering out at him behind half-open doors. They were far shorter and likely far younger than him, though, and he paid them no heed given how exhausted he was.

After walking up a flight of stairs and down more corridors for several minutes, Light revised his mental estimate of how large the place was. Finally, they reached a hall wherein the heavy doors were more spread out, giving the impression the rooms were larger, and the light came from old-fashioned sconces set into the walls rather than overhead lights.

"This is your room." Watari turned the brass handle to a seemingly random door since they all looked the same. "There's a key on the dresser that will lock your door if you wish to when you leave it, and it locks from the inside too. There's a bathroom over there," he pointed to a slightly ajar door on the right, "and if it's too warm in here, you can adjust the heat here or open a window. We just had your bed made up this morning, and there are new towels in the bath as well as some products under the sink if you need them. The tap water is drinkable. I think that's it for now; do you have any questions?"

Light turned slowly, taking in the simple yet sturdy furnishings, which included a full-size bed, dresser, nightstand, desk, and chair all in dark wood. The walls were a lighter color and the bed was covered in darker blankets, but that was all he could make out in the dim light from a single lamp on the desk. There were two large windows covered in heavy curtains, but the walls were bare of any other decoration.

"I think you covered- wait, how will I be able to find you or the kitchen in the morning? I didn't know the premises would be so large." His mind was screaming at him to stop talking and just go to sleep, but he wanted to know that so he wasn't just wandering lost the next day.

"The kitchen was on the left a few doors up from where we entered the house. Trust me, if you leave your room, you'll find someone that can take you where you need to go. A few of us speak Japanese if you're not comfortable speaking English, and we all know where you live, so don't worry about finding your way back. Ryuzaki will give you a few days to adjust, so you don't have training tomorrow or anything else structured."

"Where _is_ Ryuzaki?" It had seemed odd that his 'trainer' or whatever he was hadn't even been there to greet him. Then again, the man hadn't met him the first time he had gone to see him, so this wasn't exactly a surprise.

"He's probably making sure he doesn't look over-eager to have you here. Don't let him fool you." Watari smiled. "Anything else?"

"I can't think of anything." Another yawn almost obliterated the last word.

"Good night, then. We'll give you a decent tour in the morning if you're up for it."

"I'm sure I will be. Good night." Watari closed the door, and Light waited for him to get a little way down the hall before twisting the lock closed. It felt to odd to leave it unlocked when he was somewhere completely foreign to him. Glancing around, he decided that he really didn't care to examine the furnishings. He trusted them to be clean since the room didn't smell musty or unused. The bathroom was quite small, but there was an actual bathtub, which he hadn't expected. Shampoo and a few other items were under the sink, as well as extra towels.

Surprised, he pulled a bottle of pain relievers out of the cabinet behind the mirror. Whoever had thought to stock his bathroom was a wonderful person indeed. If he had been the affectionate type in the slightest, he would have kissed them for their consideration. There was some nondescript cold medication in there too, but since his congestion had gone away from breathing fresh air, he didn't need that. Fumbling his toothbrush out of his suitcase along with his nightclothes, he stopped trying to think about his surroundings and just focused on getting ready for sleep.

A few minutes later, there wasn't a thought in his head as he fell into a slumber completely at odds with the unfamiliarity of his circumstances. It was pure exhaustion and hours without feeding an addiction to stimulants, as well as jet lag, that wiped out any oddness he might have felt at being in a new country or staying in a house with near-strangers.

Tomorrow, he would start to figure out where he was and what he was doing here.

* * *

L was in the sun room by himself when Wammy dropped by that night to let him know that Light had made it there without incident. He was scrunched into one of the overstuffed chairs with his laptop resting on the arm of it, his chin nearly resting on his knees as he typed away.

"Is he sleeping off the jet lag?" He stirred up the sugar that was starting to settle in the tea on the table beside him and looked away from his perusal of the Internet. Since Light had called, he had tried to put together something resembling a 'program' to follow, but in the end, he would probably just go with his instincts. It would be up to Light to keep up with him. Tutoring a single student would be far more efficient than teaching a class, which he had utterly refused to do despite numerous entreaties when the teachers were short-handed.

"That and the last year of his life, most likely." Wammy sighed. "He looks terrible, L. I'm sure part of it was just being tired from the long flight, but... he doesn't look well."

"What do you mean, 'he looks terrible'?" L scowled, turning completely to face Wammy. "Tired? Sick? Emotionless? Suicidal, still?"

"I don't think he would have called if the last was true, but everything else was. He's thinner and paler, and there are circles under his eyes to rival yours. He doesn't smile, he barely spoke, and he asked almost no questions."

L frowned and turned back to the computer. "This doesn't bode well. As long as he's here, though, I can work with him." It was true; L had every confidence in his ability to make Light fit the mold he was creating for him.

"You'll have to be careful. Don't walk on eggshells, but you might not want to jump into interrogation techniques on the first day either."

"I've planned nothing of the sort," L said, his wide eyes guileless.

He had planned to start with sleep deprivation.

Oh, well. Plans change.

"I told him he wouldn't have training tomorrow," Wammy checked the warmth of L's teapot almost out of habit, satisfied that it was still hot, before continuing. "You might want to find him and say hello, since he probably won't look for you."

"Understood. The children know that you're going by Watari and I'm Ryuzaki, so there won't be any slips in that regard."

"Good. Is there anything more I can get for you? I think I'm going to do some reading."

"You don't have to wait on me, if that's what you're asking. Good night, Mr. Wammy."

"Good night, L. And stop sitting like that before you put that curve back in your spine."

"Yes, _sir_ ," L smirked at Wammy's back as the man left. He waited until the older man was gone before unfolding his legs. It wasn't as though he needed all of his vaunted intelligence to plan out a curriculum for one student, after all.

* * *

It was still dark when Light awoke. Opening the curtains did nothing to dispel the darkness. The clock he hadn't noticed before at his bedside said 1 AM, but it felt so much later. His phone said it was 10 AM in Japan, though, so no wonder he was awake.

Jet lag. He hated it already.

There were no bars on his phone, so he wouldn't be making any calls. He made a mental note to shut off his cell phone service even if he doubted he would remember it. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he found a receipt in his wallet and wrote the note on that.

Lying back down, he tried to go back to sleep, but although he was still exhausted, sleep refused to come to him no matter how long he lay there with his eyes closed. He glanced around the dark room again, but there was no television and no books. He hadn't brought any either. All he had was his laptop, and that wasn't terribly useful without the Internet.

Yawning, he got up anyway and turned it on, fairly confident there was a wireless network here. He found several of them, but as he should have expected, they were all password-protected, and Yagami Light was an analyst, not a hacker.

He was an _analyst._

How mortifying to admit that. How had he stayed a bottom-feeder for so long, even if it was still a position in the prestigious National Police Agency?

Growing desperate to do something other than sit in a still-dark room and not sleep, since he hadn't even turned on a light, he took the shower he had forgotten to take last night. That woke him up even more, so he dressed in only slightly wrinkled clothes, pocketed his room key, and decided to go exploring. A noise in the hall made him stop and listen, curious if someone else was awake at this hour.

What if it was Ryu- L, whoever? Light decided to keep calling him Ryuzaki, at least in his head, so he would stop reminding himself of the man's dual identity. He didn't feel like running into him at this hour. Something about Ryuzaki exhausted him, and Light was tired enough as it was.

The grate of a key turning in a lock a little way up the hall sounded in the stillness outside the door, and Light paused, absurdly concerned with the identity of the person in the hall. He wanted to find someone that could give him the passphrase for the wireless network or direct him to the kitchen, but he didn't want that someone to be Ryuzaki.

He should have asked where the man's room was just so he would know that he wasn't living in the same hallway.

There was a dull thud as something fell to the floor and bounced, followed by the sound of smaller pieces pinging off hard wood, but the whispered voice that cursed soundly was not Ryuzaki's. He sighed with relief and creaked the door open. The person kneeling in the hallway snapped his head in Light's direction at the sound, glancing up and down him quickly as Light stepped out of the room.

"You're Light," he said without preamble in English, turning back to picking up something that had broken all over the floor. "I'm Matt, pleased to meet you and all that." The redhead looked up, staring across the hall at nothing. "Hey, I rhymed."

Light blinked at someone using his first name so casually, without honorifics. "Yes, you did," he replied in English. That was... weird. There was a screw and something else made of black plastic near his door, so he picked the pieces up and moved in Matt's direction.

"What was this?" He took a moment to study Matt as he continued to scoop fragments of shattered plastic into a tiny pile. The boy looked younger than him, and his dark red hair was held back partially with a pair of goggles, of all things. There was a cigarette fitted under the band of the goggles over his ear.

"An old PSP. Sony can't make handhelds like Nintendo can, and the damn things break too easily." Light hadn't practiced English in so long, but it wasn't coming out too badly, and he could follow Matt's conversation easily enough. Matt sucked air between his teeth as the damage done to the device became apparent. "It's going to take hours to fix this."

"You can put it back together?" Light glanced at the cracked screen, loose buttons, and exposed circuitry, seeing nothing but garbage.

"Yeah, see this?" Matt held up the biggest part of the PSP that wasn't broken from striking the hard floor, and Light could see electrical tape holding parts of it together. "Not the first time it's happened. It's not my only one either. This isn't even my Slim, and I have the new PSP2 anyway, but I still like having all the old ones around even if Nintendos are inherently better."

Light nodded, scowling a little as he tried to follow. Matt glanced up at him.

"Sorry, I don't speak Japanese. Languages aren't my thing. You follow me?"

"Yes, I just don't know much about PSPs and Nintendo. Sorry." Matt scooped the rest of the pieces into his striped, long-sleeved shirt, standing up with them cradled in it as he took the things Light had picked up.

"To each their own. You going somewhere?"

"Actually, I was going to ask you where the kitchen was."

"I'm headed that way. Let me drop this off, and I'll take you there. One sec." Matt unlocked his door, tripped on something in the dark and cursed, then re-emerged a few moments later with something gray that he tucked into his pocket.

"DS, also old school," he said by way of explanation as he re-locked his door.

"Ah," Light said, not really knowing what he was talking about.

"Let's go." Matt headed down the hallway, leaving it to Light to follow him.

"How did you know who I was?" Light asked once he caught up with him. Though he was pretty certain the inhabitants of this place had been advised of his arrival based on what Watari had said, he was more concerned with how much they knew about him.

"Easy. Only new people here are kids, orphans, and you're too old, so you must be Light. You're what, 23? 24?" he asked as he glanced over at Light, scrutinizing his face.

"24, yesterday." Orphans? Was this an orphanage?

"Damn, I'm good," Matt grinned momentarily, looking back ahead. "Watari said we were getting a new recruit of sorts, from Japan, but you weren't an orphan. That was about all he said. The rest is up to us to figure out."

"Oh." Light stopped as Matt nearly bounded down the stairs before settling back into a more normal saunter.

"Kitchen's up here on the right. You know how to get back to your room?"

"I think s-"

"You're the third door on the right in the second hall on the right after you go up these stairs. Our hallway has the sconces, maroon carpet, and heavier doors. Permanent quarters, you know? You see hanging lights, smaller rooms, and flat doors, you're in the wrong hallway." Matt said that in a rush, and Light had to sort out all the words and try to get them in the right order.

"Yes," he said, convinced he at least knew how to tell his corridor apart from the others. Permanent quarters? Ryuzaki hadn't even put him in some sort of temporary, in-training dormitory? He hadn't signed on for a lifetime contract with Ryuzaki, just asked him to show him something other than a job that insulted his intelligence.

Actually, he hadn't signed any contract at all. That would probably come later. He would have to scrutinize it to make sure he wasn't signing his life away.

Funny, that. That was exactly what he had done: signed his life away. He hadn't known what to do with it, putting it into the hands of strangers because he didn't want it anymore.

For the first time since waking after that nightmare, Light thought that he had gone insane. Now that he was really thinking about it, he had lost his mind.

_What am I **doing** here?!_

"Yo," Matt waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his reverie, and Light realized with a start that he had just stood there, dumbstruck. He shook his head as if to clear it.

"Sorry, still jet lagged." He rubbed at his eyes to carry out the charade. So easy how it all came back, the faking emotions and all of that.

"I can see that. I was gonna say, whatever you do, don't eat the Häagen-Dazs in the freezer. The kitchen is everybody's property, even though we have a cook, but don't touch that."

"May I ask why?" Light was fairly certain he already knew the answer. Matt grinned.

"It's Ryuzaki's. He'll kill you if you eat it without him." Matt turned around, heading down the main hallway. "Not that it would stop me! Later, Light." The redhead waved, then slipped the DS out of his pocket and started it up with one hand, picking the cigarette out of his goggles with the other and pulling open the front door.

"Thanks... Matt." It felt odd to use someone's name without honorifics, but it also felt odd to say someone's name at all. When was the last time he had held a conversation with someone that didn't revolve around work?

Kitchen. Caffeine.

That was much more important that wondering about his dearth of recent social interactions. The caffeine would make his head stop hurting, and strangely, it might help him sleep later when he crashed from it. It was a vicious cycle, feeding the addiction and coming down from the high, but it had worked for the last year.

The kitchen was huge. The island in the middle alone nearly dwarfed his old kitchen, and there were barstools all around it as well as a large breakfast nook on the side. There were two refrigerators and an oven set into the wall, almost like this was the kitchen for a restaurant rather than a home, though he was getting the impression it was an orphanage given Matt's reference to him _not_ being an orphan as significant.

There was a single light on over the stove, and he moved over to one of the refrigerators, feeling odd about taking things from it even if he was supposed to be living here. Room and board was included in his pay, right? He would have to clarify that. The appliance was packed with food, but it was all neatly stored and labeled with dates. There was so much of it that he couldn't decide on one thing and just went with an apple, picking it out of the bottom and closing the door.

He found coffee in one cupboard over the coffeepot itself, so he measured out the right amounts of grounds and water before sitting at the island and eating his apple while it brewed. The house was quiet, and all he could hear was the gurgling of water through the pot. It was almost eerie since it was such a big place, and there weren't many lights on, making it seem much larger and gloomier. At least earlier there had been soft ambient noise from televisions, but now there was only silence.

Matt was still outside, though. At least he would pass this way again and remind him that at least one other person was awake.

When the coffee was done, he tossed the apple core, filled a mug and added some cream from the refrigerator before wandering out into the hall. He should have remembered to ask Matt what the password was for the wireless router so he could at least access the Internet and keep himself busy until he could go back to sleep. Sipping at the too-hot coffee, he glanced across the hall into another room and decided now was a good time to explore, when he wasn't likely to run into children or other people that might ask questions.

As long as he didn't go far from the entrance, he shouldn't get lost. The room directly across the hall was a meeting room, or maybe a dining hall, since it was just a large table surrounded by chairs with bench seats in all the windows. The next room closer to the door was a large room with some small bookshelves and a television with many chairs scattered around in front of it, as well as bean bags. It was probably a TV room for the kids. He wondered how many there were, seeing again the long stretch of hooks running along the wall to the front door. The other rooms in front seemed to be meeting rooms, equipped either with tables and chairs or shelves of books. One room was a computer lab, but the computers were all password-protected as well.

At least there were books. He meandered further down the hall toward the stairs, intending to go a little further before taking a book from one of the libraries and heading back to the kitchen to do some reading.

A hall went off at an angle in front of the stairs, and he wandered down it, eying the paintings of landscapes as he went.

There was another tiny room to one side, and this one was nothing but books along all the walls higher than he could reach without the little wooden stool inside the door, but there was only room for a single, overstuffed chair in the center of the room and a lamp sitting on a small table. In the light from the open door, he could see that there were small photos in frames on the table, and something about them made him step inside the room. One of the pictures had a brown-haired boy, the one next to it a scowling blond girl, but the last...

... was Ryuzaki, or at least what he would have guessed he looked like as a child. There weren't any circles under his eyes, but in this picture, he couldn't have been more than 12, either. His hair was even more of a mess, and he had a vacant look in his eyes, but it definitely looked like him with that pale skin and dark rats' nest of hair.

What made him special? Light saw nothing else of interest in that much more private reading room, so he left and went to the only room on the right, which had no door and only a wide archway.

_Wow._

That was his only thought upon stepping into that room, and one step inside was as far as he got. The windows alone in there must have cost a small fortune, since despite the fact that the entire two-story wall before him was windows, it was still warm in here and not cold from outdoors. The floor before him was tiered, each level wide enough for a walkway in front of the sofas and chairs positioned at intervals along each terrace as it sloped toward the gardens on the other side of the windows. It was still dark outside, so he couldn't see much more than the outlines of trees in the dim moonlight that was now showing through the cloudy sky outside.

The entire room seemed to be done in white or cream or some other light color, and during the day, this room must be glowing with all the windows. There were a few plants to add color along the walls, but most of the room was seating, though it looked like there was a screen that could be pulled down from above. Maybe this was a movie room as well, though one far more luxurious than the other one.

In keeping with the rest of the house, there was only a single light on to keep the room from being completely dark, but it was like trying to light a theater with a candle. Still mildly awestruck at the design of the room, he turned slowly to get a glimpse of the recessed area beside him, unconsciously following the light.

Only to find that he was not alone.

Dark eyes stared back at him from almost 10 meters away, but they were no less piercing for the distance and the darkness around him. If Ryuzaki had moved or said something earlier, Light likely would have jumped and thrown hot coffee all over the place, but finding him sitting there, like a statue, hadn't scared him out of his skin at seeing another person there.

Ryuzaki was curled into one of the chairs, his chin resting on one fist as he faced the window, but his eyes looked sidelong at Light.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Light nodded as Ryuzaki uncurled, stretching and popping his spine a few times. "This is the sun room." He was speaking Japanese, but Light didn't find it offensive that he wasn't using English, as though he couldn't understand him otherwise. It just seemed natural for him.

"Hnn," Light had fallen back on one-word utterances, surprised at finding the man somewhere like this when he had been half-expecting to run into him all day. Silence hung in the air, awkward, thick as glue.

"It is... beautiful," he murmured finally, wanting to break the silence with something but having no idea what to say. He couldn't make 'small talk' with Ryuzaki, and the man seemed equally disinclined to do so.

"I'm glad you came, Light-kun." That made him glance up, but Ryuzaki wasn't looking at him, his eyes somewhere beyond the windows in front of him. "I meant to say that on the phone."

"Um..." That wasn't awkward or anything, not at all.

"Well, good night." Ryuzaki hopped, cat-like, out of the chair and slipped out of the room without a sound, leaving Light standing there in a dark, empty room with his coffee, alone. He looked at the chair Ryuzaki had so quickly vacated for long moments before his brain really registered what had just happened.

What had he gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap; 6 hours and this was written on one go. Apologies for any typos, but I'm going blind and really have to go do something else with my eyes. The chapter title was decided after that last little exchange.
> 
> I skipped dinner to write this, and none of this was planned, but I hope it doesn't show. This story has grown far beyond what I ever expected. Until next time!
> 
> As to the "incorrect" names of the gaming handhelds in the story, I was writing about the future, so they didn't exist yet. I guessed, and I guessed wrong, and I would rather keep writing than go back and edit again. Sorry.


	23. Walls

_Whatever mistake I might have made coming here, it's too late to fix it now._

Light turned, drinking his coffee down further so he wouldn't spill it before leaving the room, taking faster steps to see if he could catch Ryuzaki since he had lost moments in stupefied contemplation. He had questions for the man, and Ryuzaki owed him at least an explanation of his job. He seemed awake enough that Light might not be bothering him by seeking him out.

There was no one in the hall anymore, but he thought he heard a sound at the top of the stairs in front of him. There was no one in sight now, though. Knowing that the upstairs was a labyrinth to him stopped him from bounding up there in pursuit of Ryuzaki. He hadn't seemed over-eager to converse with him, much as Watari had said, so he was probably interested in vanishing and could do so easily.

He heard the front door creak open and decided to take another route to finding Ryuzaki. Now was as good a time as any to get some answers, early morning or not.

Matt came into view, yawning and brushing a few snowflakes out of his hair as he fiddled with his DS.

"Matt," he said, still feeling awkward leaving off honorifics, and the redhead glanced up. "Where is Ryuzaki's room?"

"Upstairs." He offered no more information than that, and Light felt inexplicably uncomfortable. Matt's demeanor had grown chillier somehow, more guarded.

"I just saw him, but he left before I could ask him some things, that's all. I'm too awake to sleep and haven't had a chance to talk to him yet." Maybe more of an explanation was in order.

"He's awake too. The man never sleeps." Matt turned off and pocketed his device. "I'll take you to his rooms, but he might not be there."

"I don't have anything else to do right now." Light shrugged, trying to remember the last time he'd said so many words in a single day. At least he still remembered how to form sentences.

"Sorry if I acted weird back there," Matt offered after a few minutes of walking up stairs and down corridors. "It's just odd to have an adult here asking questions."

"What do you mean?"

"It puts my guard up. We're a little insular, so it's strange to have an adult join us." Light could feel the tension that had been spooling up since Matt had gone cold on him, feeling like an unwelcome intruder at that statement. The redhead glanced back at him when Light failed to say anything in response.

"Don't worry about it. You'll find your place. Everyone does." Matt's more carefree nature seemed to return with conversation. "One more floor, then we'll be there. I forget how big the place seems sometimes."

" _Is_ this an orphanage?" Light asked to fill the oppressive quiet of the house around them. He hoped the topic wouldn't be somehow offensive or sensitive, especially since he wasn't one.

"It started out that way. It's kind of a school now." They climbed another flight of stairs in silence. The décor had changed again, and now the corridor seemed even older and more classical in design with crown molding and baseboards carved in plaster with embossed dull gold wallpaper on the walls. Architraves of dark wood with designs on them framed the heavy doors, lending the hall the feel of an old castle in the dim light from wrought iron fixtures hanging from the ceiling. He had never visited a castle, but this was how he had always imagined them.

"We're here," Matt said as he rounded one corner of a three-way intersection ahead of Light. "Is Ryuzaki in there?" Light couldn't see who Matt was asking, but he didn't hear a response as he turned the corner.

A child almost a foot shorter than him stood in the hall outside a partially open double door, as though he had been speaking to the person inside through the gap. He wore an over-sized shirt and loose pants reminiscent of pajamas, and with his white hair, he almost looked like a ghost in the near-darkness of the dimly lit building. Silvery gray eyes too old for that childish face looked at him as Matt made what might pass for a flourish.

"Near, this is Light. Light, Near." Near inclined his head in Light's direction, his expression not changing, and Light imitated him, not bowing yet not standing there completely still either.

"Now that we've gotten that awkwardness over with- _Ryuzaki!"_ Matt banged unceremoniously on the half-open door, nearly making Light jump and slosh what was left of his coffee all over the place. He had almost forgotten he was still carrying it.

"Must you wake the entire building with your racket?" Near sighed barely audibly as he passed by Light. His breathy voice sounded rather feminine, perhaps only because it was so soft. His speech was decidedly more English-sounding than Matt's American accent. "Light," he said, pausing beside him and not looking at him. "Ryuzaki asked me to show you around tomorrow. Please knock on the door to the right of yours when you've had breakfast and I'll show you the premises." He walked away before Light could say anything in response, his steps soundless on the thick crimson carpet running up the center of the hallway.

"Hey, Light's here to see you." Matt had leaned around Ryuzaki's door while Near spoke to him. "Later, Light, I'm going to sleep," he saluted Light like he was tipping a hat to him as he sauntered off down the hall.

"Good night. Thanks for showing me here," Light replied, trying to sort out what exactly he wanted to know.

Or what he even cared about.

* * *

L stood when Light told Matt good night and pulled open the door. This room was the sitting room for his suite, which by all rights should have been a public room, but L never invited people in here. Wammy came and went as no one else did, but the children never set foot in here. Even Matt and Near had chosen to remain outside while speaking to him.

Light, however, was going to be different. If he was going to spend one-on-one time training him, he would have to use this room _with_ him in it. The sun room and libraries and even the streets were fine for some of the lessons, but he would probably have to isolate Light sometimes to keep him from being distracted or bothered by the children. He didn't like it, but he knew Light's room was too small and private for L to want to spend time there.

Telling himself that it was a means to an end, he opened it far enough that he could see Light, who stood some distance away, as though he was as unwilling to enter as L was to invite him in. He hadn't anticipated seeing Light again tonight, thinking that with the younger man sounding so overtired, he wouldn't see him until morning. His appearance in the sun room had been enough of a surprise, catching L off-guard like that. He knew Light was in the house, but as his 'employer', he had no need to greet him or go talk to him.

It wasn't like they were friends, after all.

Light would need a few days to adjust, and he had asked Near to show Light the premises later today since he wasn't interested in doing anything like that. Near would be better than having one of the younger children do it, even if he was more socially crippled than L himself due to his self-inflicted isolation. Matt bringing Light had been another surprise, since he hadn't thought Light would even meet Wammy House's tech genius if he was as tired as he sounded.

His discomfort right now all boiled down to the fact that he wasn't sure what Light wanted in the middle of the night, though given that he was jet-lagged, it would feel like 12:13 PM in Japan to him, L decided after a quick calculation.

"Did you need something, Light-kun?" Being blunt would avoid that unnecessary exchange of pleasantries. He stepped back, implying that Light could enter if he wanted, which he did, if hesitantly.

"I had a few questions, that's all." It was unconscious how they went from one language to another as Light followed his lead back to Japanese, though he had heard him speak English in the hall. L could speak more languages than he had fingers with at least conversational fluency, and language training was one thing he thought he could impose on Light without causing him undue stress at first, as Wammy had intimated he should.

As Light stepped out of the dimly lit hall, L saw the dark circles under his eyes thrown into sharp relief by the overhead lights in his room. He had been too far away in the sun room to see the damage, but Light looked to have lost around 10 pounds since he had seen him last. He remembered thinking Light had been slightly underweight when he had been forced to carry his unconscious body to his hotel, and now he looked sickly skinny rather than healthy. Light's honey-colored hair covered his ears and eyebrows, a testament to how much he had let his appearance go.

Remembering the last time he felt like he had forced unwelcome concern on Light during their dinner, he refrained from commenting. After a few weeks at Wammy House, the jet lag would have worn off, and he would be sleeping and eating better than he probably had been. He needed Light to be at his peak performance if he was going to expend the effort to train him; he hated wasting time and energy.

L gestured to one of the sofas in the room that faced the fireplace and the television set into the wall over it.

"Did you want anything more to drink? I only have tea in here right now, though." He was getting it for himself anyway, so he might as well ask.

"I'm fine. I just... wanted to ask what exactly I'll be doing here." Even Light's speech patterns had changed, sounding more hesitant and less confident. Wammy had not been mistaken when he thought something was wrong.

L wouldn't be able to give him an honest answer to that question for a while. It was far too early in their professional relationship for L to tell him that he wanted Light to replace 'Watari' as L's liaison and partner. Wammy, while he would never admit it, was growing less eager to travel all over the world with L whenever the whim or a case took him, and Light had the plethora of social skills L would need for the role, though Light seemed to be lacking right now.

L was already taking a leap of faith inviting an outsider to what was essentially the headquarters for the world's three top detectives, even if not more than a handful of people knew exactly that. Watari, Roger, Matt, and Near knew, and Light would eventually if he could handle all of Wammy's responsibilities as Watari, but that was all. That information was extremely sensitive. There had been numerous background checks done on Light by the NPA, and he had performed his own, so he knew Light was at least trustworthy. It would just take time to build up the trust between them in order for L to let him know something so secret.

Trust. Relationship. They were foreign words to him, that's why this was so awkward, but Light was his burden to carry for the time being, given the information Light had unwittingly forced on him.

He couldn't let someone else die because of his failures, even if he didn't personally care about the individual. No more senseless deaths.

Not like A, whose death had forced Wammy to abandon their most rigorous training program. Not like Beyond, whose sadistic bid for attention had made them re-examine their treatment of the children and the criteria for admittance to Wammy House.

Most certainly not like Mello, who had confronted L with his own mortality in a grisly, inadvertent suicide that nearly killed L as well.

The sugar cube he had picked up turned to powder in his clenched fist, but it took him a few moments to let it fall through his fingers into his tea. The next one he picked up stayed intact as he buried the thoughts. Light's situation was more important than that of someone years dead.

"I'll be training you to be a better class of detective, an international investigator if you will. That's the job description in very basic terms." He picked up where their conversation left off, his thoughts already far from where they had been as he fleshed out his partial lie. "Think of it as being groomed for work in the ICPO, an international police organization rather than working for any one country in particular."

"Hmm," was Light's contribution to the dialogue. L climbed over the arm of one chair and settled with his teacup held close to his chest. "What will the training be like?"

"Language training, counterintelligence, interrogation, diplomacy, foreign relations, espionage, police work, firearms and possibly martial arts training, if you're interested," L rattled off a brief list, waiting to see if the information had any effect on Light's complacent look.

It didn't. He still looked into the empty fireplace, the words going over his head.

"I should have asked before even coming, but... is there a term of employment I need to fulfill in order to train? I never asked what kind of a contract I'd be signing." Light's non sequitur comment trailed off as he grew less sure of what he was asking.

"No need. There isn't one." Now that made Light actually look over at him. "Do I have your attention now?" Light nodded, his expression unsure. L shifted his position as he grew mildly irritated at Light's continued complacency.

"There is no contract for you to sign. I could have one drawn up if that would make you feel more secure, but it's not necessary here."

"If you don't need one, I don't either," Light sighed, but it wasn't exasperated, just unconcerned. L tilted his head slightly to peer at Light.

"You're very trusting, Light-kun."

"I don't think I would have come here otherwise." That was a lie; Light wasn't even trying to hide it. He didn't trust L more than anyone else.

They had that much in common. So why was he here?

L had his answer in Light's appearance and his world-weary, exhausted attitude. He was desperate. Light had reached the end of his rope after trying to make it on his own in a job and a culture ill-suited for someone of his caliber. Perhaps cruelly, L thought it was a pity Light hadn't been an orphan. They could have gotten to him years ago before he'd done this much damage to himself.

"You gave me the impression I would be earning a salary rather than just room and board." Light sipped at his coffee, winced slightly, and set it aside. It was probably cold by now since the halls weren't as warm as the rooms. "Will that be negotiated later?"

"We can do it now or in the morning, if you'll be more awake then." Light actually laughed at that, surprising L with the soft chuckle in the back of his throat, almost like he was coughing on something.

"This is as awake as I ever get, Ryuzaki," Light's smile was not at all amused at L's insinuation. "Are you sure that's how you want me to refer to you? No - _sempai_ or _-san_?"

"No, Ryuzaki is fine," he answered in English, his voice going cold. He didn't like this devil-may-care attitude of Light's. Formerly suicidal or not, L was offering Light the opportunity of a lifetime even if Light didn't know all the details of what L had planned for him. A lesser man would have begged for even the consideration for this attention from someone of his status, from the world's greatest detective. Of course, a lesser man would never have gotten it, but it was almost offensive for Light to think so little of him.

There he was, flinging his cheap affection at the same unwilling subject again.

"As far as negotiating your salary, what were you making as a first-year analyst in Japan?" He knew exactly what Light made, but he didn't want Light to know how much he had found out about him in the last day. It would probably put him on the defensive if he knew L was finding things out about him again, given his reaction when he had mentioned speaking to Light's family.

Light thought for a moment. He barely spent his money on anything other than essentials according to his checking account statements, so L wouldn't have been surprised to find that Light didn't keep track of his earnings.

"About 420,184 yen per month. I'm sorry, I don't know the conversion to pounds." His accent was stronger now when he spoke English, so that was the first thing they could work on.

"So 5,042,208.00 yen per year?" Light nodded. "Net or gross?"

"Gross."

"That's 28,712.99 pounds. Does 22,510 pounds, or 3,954,010.87 yen, sound fair to you? Room, board, and travel expenses are included with your salary. You're not getting demoted by training for me."

Light just looked at him.

"We can work with round numbers, if you like. Four million yen for the year?" Light smiled a little, his expression bemused. "Tax free. Under the table." Who was begging whom here? Was L desperate to get Light to work for him or vice versa?

"Are you doing all that math in your head?"

Now it was L's turn to smile a little as he answered. "Yes, but I'm using last week's conversion rates. I might be less than accurate."

"Impressive. It sounds fine. I guess I thought you'd be more... particular about it."

"It's just money, Light-kun." The nickname sounded fine even in English, so he kept using that rather than shortening his name to just 'Light'.

It _was_ just money, and Eraldo Coil made more of it doing private investigation work and finding people than L felt necessary to spend, so most of his wealth was invested. Deneuve made her fair share as well. L didn't personally make any money for his work, but his aliases made him a very comfortable millionaire, though with his numerous assets, including the yacht, private jet, and houses, facilities, and condos in other countries, he was a billionaire.

Light's salary was pocket change. He would give him far more, if Light wanted, when he took over for Watari.

"There is one condition, though." He fixed his gaze on Light to let him know he was serious. "You are not free to discuss your training, current or future location, and the names of anyone in this house or myself with anyone. The less you say, the better. Before you ask, I am neither underworld boss nor head of a terrorist organization. You will merely find that operations security is the most highly valued concept in my business, much like it is in the NPA or other intelligence agency. Do you understand me completely?"

"Yes."

"Say it." Light sat up straighter rather than fighting him as he had the last time L had asked him to do this.

"I understand the value of saying nothing about the nature of my training, location, or the identities of anyone around me for the sake of their security. I'm no stranger to this concept, Ryuzaki."

"I know. I just liked hearing you say it. Is there anything else you wanted to know?" He sat back, cuing Light that he could relax. That was only a small test, after all. He knew when Light was lying, and in addition, he had every confidence that while Light understood loyalty, there wasn't much in this world that he cared for right now.

That could be a problem later.

"What do _you_ do, Ryuzaki? Who do you work for?" Time for the things he had to lie about, again. Light would learn to do the same soon enough, as easily as breathing.

"My employer's name is not mine to share. I'm a privately-employed investigator, meaning I don't work for or against any particular country. By the way, if work calls me away, I may be forced to leave you here temporarily, at least until your training is complete."

"Watari said I wouldn't have it for a few days, but when do I start?"

"Tuesday. You'll find things around here rather relaxed, Light-kun. We can give you the time to adjust, look around, and get settled in." Or at least, Wammy could tell him to give Light the time. Light had closed his eyes and was pinching his temples, though he nodded in understanding while L spoke.

"Did you look in your medicine cabinet? There's aspirin in there, and a few other things."

"I did, thank you. This jet lag is killing me." Light stifled a yawn and got to his feet. "I think that's all. I'm sorry if I bothered you, but I was curious and... awake."

"That's fine, Light-kun. Just find Near in the morning. He'll show you around, and Watari could probably take you if you want to run errands with him and see what the city is like."

"I might do that. Good night, Ryuzaki." Light stood and collected his coffee cup before heading to the door.

L stayed seated, but he set his teacup down. "I'll see you tomorrow, Light-kun."

Light nodded, his eyes half-lidded with weariness as he opened the door. When he left and closed the door behind him, L lowered his eyes and studied the patterned carpet under his chair.

It was a pity Light had not been raised here. His genius had been wasted utterly, and like anything else, if not used, the mind tended to go to waste.

He hoped he wasn't too late.

* * *

A few steps into the hallway and Light remembered that he still wasn't familiar with this sprawling mansion. Conversation, or rather verbal sparring, with Ryuzaki had been as exhausting as he had thought it would be, only aggravating his general sense of lethargy. At least on the way here, he had paid more attention to his surroundings, and he should be able to find his way back.

Down stairs and through hall after hall he walked, taking note of paintings and sculptures he had passed on the way to Ryuazki's suite before finding himself back in the hallway in which his room was located. Unlocking his door with a sigh of relief, he left the coffee cup he had emptied of its tepid coffee in order to alleviate his headache on the top of the dresser. He could take care of it in the morning.

His body had caught up with the fact that he had only slept a few hours after going almost 36 hours on only snatches of sleep, regardless of what his mind was telling him about the time. There weren't any sleeping pills in the bathroom, but he might get some tomorrow if he went to town with Watari.

Despite asking a few questions of Ryuzaki, the situation was still surreal. The reality of his location, salary, job, trainer, and surroundings had not sunk in, leaving him feeling like he was floating driftless, especially after that dream, the one that had forced him to ask for help.

It was too late to change his mind now.

That thought gave him a measure of comfort as he drifted off later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for confirming Mello's death. I really hated him when I decided his fate earlier after finishing the manga, but now I feel guilty. He grew on me after seeing him in the anime, the same as Near.


	24. Changes

When next Light opened his eyes, faint sunlight trickled in around the drapes in his room. Finally. Yesterday had been the longest day of his life, but given his early-morning exploration of the house, last night had seemed unbearably long as well, as though daylight would never come.

The room had few additional details to offer him even with the extra light. It was quite plain and utilitarian, though the furniture was of a better quality than he had seen in his apartment. The drawers were all empty, but the large closet he hadn't yet investigated held an ironing board and iron, much like a hotel would, and had plenty of space. The bathroom was tiled in cream, the towels dark blue with gray designs on them, and all the fixtures gleaming chrome. He decided he liked how simple it was as he started unpacking, making the room more his own by spreading his things out.

Despite the sunshine outside, he kept the curtains mostly drawn, having grown accustomed to little light in his own apartment. It was 8 AM, still early, but he could find his way downstairs now or go to find Near. Almost in direct contrast to his lifestyle for the last year, he found himself curious about breakfast. It was probably the change in location, not any newfound desire to socialize.

He tucked in the button-down shirt he'd pulled on, not paying overmuch attention to what color it was, before taking his key and leaving the room. He chose to wear shoes, though neither Ryuzaki nor Near had been wearing them earlier. He hadn't remembered to bring his house shoes anyway. As he glanced around, the halls seemed much less ominous without all the dark corners and the silence of a few hours ago. They were merely stately now.

He could hear children's voices as he descended the stairs, steeling himself internally for questions and high-pitched voices. He had avoided them as much as possible in recent years due to all the pointless noise they made, but it seemed he would have to deal with them on a daily basis now. Maybe they wouldn't frequent the libraries as much. At least his room was always an option for escaping them.

He ran into the first group of them at the bottom of the stairs. To his bemusement, they weren't speaking English. It sounded like Russian, but when they spotted him, they hushed. He found the disinterested mask somewhere in his inventory and put it on, unwilling to speak to them if he could avoid it.

"Hello, Yagami-kun," one of the girls said in polite Japanese, waving a little. He gave a perfunctory half-smile and continued on since it didn't look like she was going to say more, especially after she starting talking again in that other language, buzzing excitedly about something. He wondered briefly how many of these children were multilingual.

He could hear others inside the rooms to either side as he headed for the kitchen, but none of them left the rooms to approach him. The kitchen looked to have recently been occupied, and there was still an older woman in there kneading a ball of dough on the island. She looked up with a polite smile when Light came in.

"You must be new." She gestured with one flour-dusted hand. "Coffee and tea are over there, eggs are on the stove, the bread basket and condiments are on the counter, and if you want any meat cooked or anything else, I can get it for you as soon as I finish with this." She went right back to making bread, seemingly leaving Light in peace to get his breakfast.

"Thank you," he said, and she nodded but didn't say anything else. He picked a croissant still warm from the oven out of the basket and took it and a small plate to the breakfast nook with him, satisfied that she wasn't going to try to make small talk with him if he ate in here. It was odd to be eating something other than rice and soup for breakfast if he had anything at all, though he was sure he would adjust to the idea soon enough.

The weak winter sunlight filtered through the thinner curtains in the kitchen. He couldn't see much with the glare from sun glittering on snow outside other than the fact that the nearest buildings were further away than he expected, if the dark shapes hovering in the distance were any indication. When he started tearing up from the pain, he looked away and just studied the room further. It was much more welcoming in daylight with all the polished steel and dark gray counters, industrial yet strangely comfortable. He watched as other children and a few teenagers filtered in and out, getting muffins or fruit from the cook while stealing glances at him from across the room. They were a motley mix, some Asian-looking like himself, others of Indian or African descent as well as the predominant European stock. The place seemed to be a veritable melting pot of cultures.

Deciding to forgo coffee for now, he finished off his meager breakfast and went back to his own hallway to find Near. The children that were up and about looked at him but still didn't talk to him. He was starting to notice that they weren't making the racket he expected; they chattered and laughed, but they weren't running wild and making nuisances of themselves. He knocked lightly on the door beside his, feeling odd about doing so even if Near had asked him to.

The door cracked open after a brief pause, and Near's face appeared in the shadowed gap. "Please give me one minute, Light." He closed the door again immediately. Feeling strange, Light waited, glancing around the hall. No one else was up here, and it seemed far quieter than downstairs had been, as though none of the children lived up here.

The door opened again, and Near slipped out, locking the room behind him. Light had no guesses as to his age anymore. He'd thought he was a child at first because of his height, dress, and haircut, but his eyes and the way he spoke made him seem older. He was somewhere between 15 and 20... maybe.

"Thank you for waiting," Near spoke softly as one hand went to the hair over his temple, wrapping the nearly-white strands around his index finger in what seemed like a nervous gesture. Light blinked and nearly did a comic double take at the gleaming doll's eyes that were revealed by the motion. Overly large black irises with a ring of silver on shiny, porcelain white. He might have been exhausted this morning, but his memory was not that faulty since he had remembered them being gray. He apparently looked overlong at those false eyes, for Near looked away from him.

"They're sclera lenses," he explained shortly. "Daylight is blinding without them. Please come with me." It came to Light as they started walking: there was only one reason that someone with Near's coloring would need contact lenses to block out the light.

Near was an albino. Light had never met one before. He seemed to have some pigment still, since he had white-blond hair and his skin wasn't completely pallid, though he doubted Near ever went outside. Light had thought Ryuzaki pale until meeting Near.

The presumably younger boy started talking, so he stopped musing and tried to pay attention since Near's voice was so soft that he had a hard time hearing him if he wasn't standing right next to him.

"Ryuzaki asked me to use English with you," he started, then switched to Japanese mid-sentence, "but if anything is unclear, I am perfectly capable of speaking Japanese, so ask if you have questions.

"This wing is permanent quarters, where long-term residents and employees live." It was like flipping a switch with him to go back and forth between languages, but Light could follow his conversation... if he could hear it. "You have already met Matt. Our resident doctor, cook, and several of the instructors live here most of the time as well."

"What is Wammy House?" Light interrupted at the mention of instructors. "Matt said it was an orphanage." He felt as though he was shouting in comparison to the other's speech. Near didn't look back at him as he answered. It was mildly disconcerting that so many people from this place wouldn't meet the eyes of those to whom they were speaking. If he was trying to be professional or make himself clear, he looked people in the eye. At least, he thought he had before he'd stopped caring about his communication skills or career.

"It was an orphanage established over 20 years ago, but currently it is a school for talented children selected from other orphanages. Private instructors are brought in to teach whichever subjects are necessary, therefore the curriculum is both flexible and intense. The students reside here until they are of an age to choose a career and leave. The school is self-sufficient, requiring no tuition since the students, being orphans, are unable to pay. Does that answer your question?" Near didn't pause between sentences, as though he was eager to be done speaking.

"Yes, thank you." Light's long-dormant analytical skills told him that Near was either quite intimidated by him or he was extremely uncomfortable around people in general. Light couldn't see anything that might be frightening about him, so it is was likely the latter.

"The students are not allowed in this wing, nor the one in which Ryuzaki resides. Watari and Roger, the co-founder, live on that floor as well. These-" he gestured to the halls around them, not including the one from which they had come, "are the students' wings. Their rooms are smaller, the much younger students live two to a room, and the bathrooms are shared since they only reside here temporarily.

"The second and third floors are residential, accommodating as many as 60 students and 15 staff, though currently there are only 31 students." Near took the stairs downward more slowly, his hand trailing down the banister as he went, allowing Light to stay beside him without much difficulty.

"The first floor is common areas: libraries, classrooms, computer labs, study and game rooms, the main dining hall, and the kitchen. You will notice that the students congregate in these areas. They are encouraged to spend time together as much as possible rather than staying in their rooms." Near paused briefly, actually looking Light in the eyes before continuing down the steps.

"It was discovered that their proclivities for isolation in the past caused them to develop... improperly." There was the faintest twist to his mouth at the one-word description that conveyed a very mature and very _bitter_ sense of irony.

Light had misjudged him; this was no child. Something in him resonated with his words as well.

Sometimes, the help came too late.

* * *

The rest of the tour proceeded largely without incident as Near gave him a fairly textbook definition of each room's function, explaining a sprinkling of the history as they drifted through the first floor. Light noticed that while he was stared at still by the children, their furtive glances darting away when he looked back at them, none of them looked at Near. Their gazes drifted over him as though he didn't exist.

He might have started to pity Near, whose smaller stature and timid manner almost demanded it, but the white-haired boy returned the favor, his expression completely unconcerned with his invisibility. As the morning progressed, he had stopped talking so softly to Light, and he was no longer twisting his hair into ringlets. Maybe this chilly demeanor was more normal for him.

The solarium, where Near shaded his eyes and lingered outside the archway, and much of the first floor had been built or renovated within the last four years, according to his unwilling guide. The little reading room helped Light uncover the fact that it had been due to a series of incidents rather than any desire to change the décor.

"Is this Ryuzaki?" Light asked, touching the picture frame on the table after Near explained that this was mainly Watari's private collection. The older gentleman kept it down here rather than in his room so, even if he was spending time alone, the children could find him. He apparently was a grandfatherly figure for most of them.

Near stepped inside the room after glancing both ways down the hallway outside. "No, it is not." He pointed to the photos rather than touching them.

"Please do not ask the students about these pictures; the younger ones do not know all the details and have no need to know. These were former students." Near glanced up at him. "They are all dead." Despite his bluntness, Light didn't get the impression Near was dismissive of the fact.

"I suggest you establish a better rapport with Watari, and perhaps Ryuzaki and Matt, before asking for more details than this. This was Aaron," he pointed to the brown-haired boy before moving on to Ryuzaki's lookalike. "This was Beyond. Despite his appearance, he and Ryuzaki are not related." Near lastly indicated the blond.

"This was Mihael." He paused. "He was Matt's best friend." Light felt somehow guilty mistaking the gender of someone dead at the mention of 'him'. Thinking of how Matt had acted that morning prompted him to ask the next question.

"Were any of these recent, or can't you say?" He took his hand away from the photos, not wanting to disturb them if they were memorials.

"Beyond died two years ago, Mihael four, and Aaron fourteen. I do not wish to say anymore."

"Excuse me, I didn't mean..." He didn't know what he wanted to say, but he felt as though he had somehow ruined the tour.

"There is no harm done." Near moved back to the door, his soft voice especially placating given its volume. "It is simply something I do not wish to discuss with you so soon. Unfortunately, I cannot give you a tour of the grounds since I do not go outside in the middle of the day." Light glanced at his watch, surprised how time had flown since he had woken this morning. "Normally I'm asleep at this time since I prefer to be awake at night. If there is anything more you wish to know, please tell me, but I've shown you the main building in its entirety."

"I think you covered everything." Light paused. "Thank you, and I'm sorry for robbing you of sleep." Near's overly polite manner seemed to be rubbing off on him.

Near actually gave him a hint of a smile at that, and suddenly he was just a boy, not a jaded and reclusive young man. "You're welcome. Have a good day, Light." He bowed very slightly then left, his wraith-like form vanishing soundlessly.

Light glanced around the room again, noting book titles in case he wanted to read any of it. Part of Near's explanations included permission to read or use anything he liked, as well as all the passwords he would need to use the computers. What he wanted to do right now, though, was find Watari and see if he was going into the city.

He hadn't felt this _alive_ in a long time, actually willing to explore his surrounding for no other reason than to become familiar with them. Perhaps it was only the change in circumstances, but despite his admittedly insane decision to drop everything he had and move in with strangers in a foreign country on very short notice... the decision didn't feel quite as foolhardy as it had this morning.

* * *

_Sky._

Light's first thought upon exiting the vehicle was that he had never seen so much of it. Of course, he had been on school field trips and sometimes visited the countryside with his family, but at those times they were typically surrounded by mountains or trees, somewhere truly rustic. Never had he seen a city center that also had the whole expanse of the sky above it, like it was so close overhead that he could reach up and touch it.

Almost nothing in his vicinity was over three stories tall. The clean lines and the fingers of glass and metal that reached forever skyward and characterized Tokyo's architecture had been traded for a collection of wood, stone, and brick buildings sprawling in every direction that bespoke age rather than modernity. Instead of the odd, brightly colored Buddhist temple nestled within its protective verge, safe from the business-oriented harshness of his home's jumbled walkways, overpasses, underpasses, train tunnels, and millions of pedestrians, he saw the ancient stone churches sitting right in the midst of the city, separated only by a stretch of snow-spotted grass from the main thoroughfares. They were the only things that were tall here besides the trees. The streets he was on now were cobblestone, another thing he had never seen before.

He had found Watari getting lunch in the kitchen after Near left, and the older gentleman was only too happy to take him along to the city, offering to show Light the sights rather than simply run errands. They hadn't taken Ryuzaki's extensively customized Phantom this time, instead using Watari's BMW 6-series. While Light knew little about cars, having had no desire to own one ever, he know they were both luxury cars that few police detectives ever entertained the possibility of buying.

It felt odd to sit in the front seat with Watari this time, but he made mostly one-sided small talk with Light and the strangeness eventually was forgotten. It was refreshing to speak to someone normal again, which was how he was coming to think of Watari and even Matt in comparison to Ryuzaki and Near, who mainly made him feel uncomfortable. Watari was full of information on the city's history, pointing out collections of shops, the stately guildhall, the Winchester Cathedral, and several schools and libraries as they drove. Light didn't have to feign interest, instead looking out the windows and letting his eyes take it all in. Watari didn't pry into his thoughts or actions either, only asking what he thought of the house briefly before taking the reins of the conversation and discussing the city.

He appreciated _someone_ respecting his privacy yet still managing to be interesting as well.

If Winchester was where he was going to live for the next year, he rather liked it. Not only had he discarded a career that he had no interest in anymore, but in the same day, he had shucked off what felt like the constraints of a shallow, materialistic lifestyle. Instead, he found himself somewhere that tradition was valued more highly than convenience, somewhere that time moved at a slower pace.

Light felt a sardonic smile forming as he closed the door to the sedan. What a melodramatic sap his thoughts were making him out to be. Ryuzaki was right; he would make a terrible poet.

The first gust of cold, wet wind that slapped him in the face made him start to rethink his decision about the location. He buttoned the top of his coat and put his hands in his pockets, grateful that he hadn't cut his hair yet for it still covered his neck.

Watari had taken them to an area where small, privately-owned shops lined the streets, so in that way, it was not so different from Tokyo with its appreciation for boutiques and smaller businesses. It was only the appearance that was so jarringly different since there were no flashing lights, neon, or even crosswalks since the cobbled streets were not for driving upon.

They meandered through the streets, taking their time while Watari greeted people and they both purchased items. There was no rush, and Light didn't get the impression anyone else was in a hurry either. There were plenty of tourists here in brightly colored groups that contrasted with the gray stone and red brick around them. He didn't stand out very much as a result and no one said more than hello to him, for which he was grateful. It was a bit of a culture shock to not be surrounded by so many people listening to MP3 players, texting on cell phones, pressuring him to take surveys, offering samples, and in general making him feel that despite being surrounded by so many people in a rush to get everywhere, he was in a vacuum.

They had stopped at a cafe after Light grew tired of trying to stifle his yawns since his leaden body was telling him it was past midnight, and the winter sky was starting to darken already. Light had just gotten his cafe au lait when his ears perked up at the sound of an elderly woman greeting Watari. That wasn't unusual, but the name the woman used had not been 'Watari' even though the older man turned to her after a surreptitious glance at him. Light didn't let anything show on his face other than relief at wrapping his cold fingers around hot coffee, so Watari turned back to the woman and continued talking to her about donations, whatever that was about.

Once they were at the car and away from other pedestrians, he asked.

"'Watari' isn't your real name, is it?" 'Watari' glanced down at the car as he unlocked it, a smile that didn't reach his eyes turning up the corners of his mustache.

"My name is Quillsh Wammy," he stated when his eyes rose to meet Light's as he opened the door. "I hadn't meant for you to find out like that, making it look like I was trying to hide it. I founded the house that bears my name and several others."

"You use another name when you travel?" Not unlike Ryuzaki, though his reasons were probably different. Did anyone here use their real name?

"I do. I prefer to inspect the orphanages that I fund overseas without them knowing that I'm coming, hence the other name. I didn't mean to mislead you, but you had enough of a shock just coming here, if I'm not mistaken." He opened the trunk so they could load their bags inside and spare the ivory leather interior of the car. "I didn't want to add one more thing to it right away."

"Thank you... for that. I appreciate all you've done for me already." Despite Ryuzaki's supposed real identity as both L and his 'employer', he almost felt like Wammy had hired him instead. The man had certainly done more for him and spent more time with him than his socially inept mentor. Maybe he would start to think of Wammy that way and let Ryuzaki continue his charade of just being an investigator until he was honest with him or Light revealed what he knew.

The ride home was uneventful as they retraced their route, Light noticing that his eyes were still fluttering closed despite the caffeine. It was barely 6 PM and he was ready to go to sleep. The old-fashioned gate demarcating Wammy House's boundaries finally came into view, and now he was awake to see that Wammy put in a keycode to get it to open though it looked as rustic as any other gate in the city. The "modernness" was cleverly disguised.

The premises were as extensive as he had thought last night. Their neighbors' properties began well over a hundred meters away to either side, and Wammy House was no small building, the wings spreading in a vague Y-shape over the property. There were more buildings in back, but Near's unwillingness to go outside had kept him from finding out what they were. The rest of the property was the gardens and open spaces, probably for the children to play.

This was his home now. He stepped out of the car and looked at the part of the building visible from the carport for a few moments while Wammy put away his driving gloves and unlocked the trunk.

It still hadn't sunk in yet, and they just felt like words. He had at least a year to grow accustomed to the idea, though. Who knew what would happen after that?

* * *

"You look terrible," Matt's matter-of-fact voice woke Light out of his daze. Light blinked a few times and sat up, reaching for the tea to the side of him that had long grown cold. He had requisitioned one of the overstuffed chairs in the back of the solarium, the tea Watari... no, Wammy, had suggested sitting beside him along with the book he had been trying to read.

"I have to stay awake," he replied, drinking the liquid anyway. "I'm trying to get rid of the jet lag. If I keep going to sleep early, it'll take even longer."

"What are you reading?" the redhead asked as he flung himself over the arm of one of the chairs one tier below Light, well outside his 'personal space'. His boots dangled over one side of the chair and he rested against the other arm, whatever gaming system he was using in hand still. He seemed perfectly able to play and carry on a conversation at the same time.

Light glanced at the book for too long. "I have _no_ idea." Matt laughed.

"You should play video games. It'll engage more of your brain than reading, make it easier to stay awake." His expression changed while he seemed to focus more on the game.

"I'm not much of a gamer, really."

"You only say that because you haven't played any. There are games for everyone."

"I'm sure there are," Light replied, trying to sound open-minded and not doing a very good job of it because he was long out of practice... and he was tired.

"Don't patronize me. My IQ's over 150 too." 'Too'? How did _Matt_ know his IQ score? He glanced at Matt, trying to see if he had actually upset him even though his voice hadn't gotten any more annoyed.

"IQ scores don't really mean anything."

"Not a damn thing, I agree," Matt grinned impishly to let Light know that he hadn't actually offended him. "That was just a guess, by the way. Only the 'best of the best' make it in here."

"I see." Light looked over at his book again, dreading trying to make sense of the words. English wasn't hard for him to read, but the fact that he was tired made his brain object to the thought. Maybe if it kept him awake, he could try it. What harm was there in it? "What would you suggest?"

"For what, games?" Matt's voice perked up slightly. He swung his feet off the chair, his eyes still on the game before him as he walked over to Light. "Lemme pause this," he said before reaching into a pocket down on his calf. Now that Light really looked at him, there were pockets all over his pants not unlike the ones people wore in Harajuku. At least he didn't have chains hanging off him and he wasn't wearing makeup.

Matt pulled another object out of that pocket, and Light tried to hide his smile at the fact that the redhead had not one but two gaming systems on him at one time.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm incredibly geeky," Matt said as he apparently caught Light's expression. "I'm guessing you know nothing about gaming, but this is the DS I had this morning, Nintendo's handheld from a few years ago. This-" he put the device he had been playing with in the crook of his elbow, pulling a small plastic case out of another pocket and taking out a tiny cartridge, "is Brain Age 2. It's not _quite_ a game, but it's a good starting point for non-gamers. Use the stylus and draw on this screen." Matt flipped it open and handed him the object, which Light looked at without really knowing what he was supposed to do, and he said as much.

"You'll figure it out," Matt said, turning it on for him and putting the plastic case away.

"What's that?" he pointed to the object in Matt's elbow as the screen on the DS lit up and made music.

"This is the DSi," he answered with a flourish of the device. "It's the next generation of what you're holding, with Internet connectivity, cameras, a bigger screen, and better graphics."

"I see," Light said, not trying to hide the lie, and Matt grinned easily.

"I'll leave you be. I'm heading outside, but this is where I usually hang out in the evenings. Have fun," he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of yet another pocket, putting one between his lips as he headed out of the room.

"See you," Light replied, turning to the game. Time to see if this was better at keeping him awake than trying to translate a book on... something or another.

An indeterminate time later, Matt came back in, and for a while there was only the sound of beeps, tinny music, and the odd curse from the other boy.

"I'm _old_." Light's announcement broke the silence. "I'm 70. The game says I have the brain of a _70-year-old_."

"It's just because you're slow. It's not saying you're not intelligent," Matt was trying not to laugh. "70 is the oldest you can be. Play around with it some more and you'll get better. You can play Virus Buster too if you get sick of that. It's just like Dr. Mario, a puzzle game."

"Alright," Light replied, amused at how easy it was to get lost playing such a simple game, even if it wasn't really a game, just as Matt had said.

It was midnight before he knew it, and that was a far better time to go to sleep than 7 PM. While he doubted that he would ever be as addicted to games as Matt was, it had been fun for a few hours. Maybe he would ask to borrow it again sometime if he was bored to near-insanity.

He shut the game down and headed over to where Matt was still sitting, though he was now lying over the arm of the chair in what looked like a painful position, the DSi held over his head.

"Thanks for that. It was really helpful."

"No problem." Matt took it and slipped it back in the pocket on his leg, his eyes not really on Light. "Glad you liked it. If I'm not using it, you're welcome to it since you don't seem the type to destroy it."

"I'd appreciate that. Good night," He meant it, too. He lifted a hand in a brief farewell, which Matt returned with his salute, his eyes back on his game a moment later.

However odd his first day in the country might have been due to Ryuzaki's conspicuous absence and Near's downright strange behavior, he felt satisfied being here. Wammy had made his visit to the city pleasant and informative, and Matt was starting to feel like... an acquaintance, maybe even a friend, despite how little they actually did together. That was the only word he could think of for it, though he had nothing to compare it to given the intellectual level of his peers in the past. He had never been 'friends' with anyone, withholding the title from people he had to put on an act for in order to get to know them better, which he hadn't had any interest in doing.

Already it felt like he had turned over a new leaf. He was finding the world was a lot bigger than it had been.

Maybe it was safe to start thinking that things were going to look up now.

* * *

L stood inside Wammy's library, barely inside the doorway yet hidden in the shadows since he had shut off the lamp behind him. His dark eyes followed Light as he passed by on his way upstairs, barely an arm's length from him.

He was glad that Near had put aside enough of his misgivings to be able to show Light around the property, since it was good for both Near and Light. He was especially pleased that Wammy had taken Light to the city and showed him around since no one was better at putting people at ease than him.

Lingering outside the entrance to the sun room, he had stood there for some time, listening to Matt and Light as they chattered about video games, of all things. Light might not have been in good shape given his jet lag and overall sense of exhaustion, but Matt's ears were sharp, so he had to stay quiet as he listened, which was never a difficult task for him. He just wouldn't be able to leave and come back with ease, so there would be no tea or cake for some time, which was an acceptable sacrifice.

He hadn't thought Light capable of carrying on a conversation anymore, in all honesty. With him, Light had blindly asked questions and only sometimes listened to the answers, barely paying attention to him in the most insulting manner, but with Matt he had even joked to some degree, exchanging information and finding things to talk about, however inane. His conversational skills were coming back, which was both a relief and... not.

He didn't care to analyze how he felt right then, so he brushed the thoughts aside while Light ascended the stairs situated above this tiny room, his proximity completely unbeknownst to Light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having so much fun researching for this chapter. Anyone who hasn't used Google Earth needs to, if for no other reason than to feel like meteorites do when they crash into the earth from space... and to see what Winchester looks like from ground level too, yes. I've never been there, but I hope I haven't done a terrible job of describing it. I flavored it with Munich and Verona, which I have visited.


	25. Outing

The next morning, Light found a note that had been slipped under his door in the night.

" _You need a cell phone and a vehicle. I'll be in either the kitchen or the solarium."_

Brief and to the point. It had to be Ryuzaki, though there was no name and he had never seen the man write anything. Why did he need a vehicle? It wasn't as though Ryuzaki didn't have one. He could definitely use a phone, though. He had canceled his contract online last night before going to sleep, so the device lay on his nightstand, rendered useless except as a calendar.

He tossed the note into the trash in his bathroom and left his room, pushing hair still damp from his shower out of his eyes. It really needed to be cut since he was tired of having no peripheral vision. If they were going into town, he should look for a barber. It was Sunday, but hopefully he could find one that was open.

He had woken up much earlier this morning, and he only saw two children on the way to the kitchen. The same woman from before was in there, whistling softly as she cracked eggs into a bowl. After a brief inquiry as to when meal times were, he poured himself his typical breakfast of coffee with a splash of cream and headed over to the breakfast nook. To his surprise, he had found Near sitting there instead of Ryuzaki when he entered the kitchen.

"Good morning," Near murmured, his strange eyes on a puzzle spread across the stone tabletop in front of him, the remains of breakfast and tea sitting to one side.

"Hello." Light glanced at the puzzle, which was entirely white, before looking at Near's plate. "Breakfast? I thought you slept during the day." The bench seats and table were wide enough that he didn't feel like he was invading Near's personal space by sitting on the other side, though he didn't sit directly across from him either since the puzzle pieces encompassed much of the surface.

"I do," the boy answered, picking tiny pieces out of a box and fitting them to the puzzle without seeming to think overlong even though the pieces looked identical. "I simply eat dinner and breakfast reversed so as not to cause our cook undue trouble."

"Did _you_ want to see me this morning?" Light asked as he blew across the top of his drink to cool it. Near shook his head slowly at what Light assumed had been a highly unlikely statement.

"No, that was Ryuzaki. He asked me to direct you to the sun room if you arrived here." Near's voice wasn't as soft as it had been before, but it was still quiet, as if he was trying to be unobtrusive.

"I'll go soon enough. He didn't give me a time." He sat back, enjoying the coffee even if it tasted somewhat different than that to which he was accustomed. He hadn't noticed it on the first night since he was more concerned with the caffeine than anything else. Off to the side, the cook finished mixing a few more ingredients in the bowl, covering it with a towel before leaving the room. Light watched her leave, then looked back to Near. "Could I ask a personal question?"

"You may, though I reserve the right not to answer." Light smiled in faint amusement at that.

"What do you do during the week if you aren't studying or teaching?" He had been curious as to what the other 'residents' did on weekdays if they weren't in school anymore. Near had explained that classes were only held Monday through Friday, and on the weekends, the children were free to roam or go to the city if Wammy or Roger arranged to take them. That is, if they weren't old enough to secure their own transportation.

"I still study, only by myself." Near focused on his puzzle, talking to it instead of Light, but he was starting to grow less uncomfortable with the practice. It was mildly unnerving to have Near's eyes looking into his, after all. "I don't teach or tutor, but you could call my work cryptology, codebreaking, for lack of a better term." The ghost of a smile flitted across his features, making him child-like again. "I like puzzles."

"I can see that. That looks... very difficult." He refrained from asking in what way Near used those skills. He would probably get a vague answer similar to Ryuzaki's from his first night here if he asked for more information. He doubted Ryuzaki worked for anyone but himself, and he didn't want to be fed any more lies if he could avoid it.

Near continued to fit pieces together for a few minutes while Light lay his head back against the cushioned bench, his eyes drifting to stare out the window at the overcast sky and the melting snow. The quiet wasn't unbearable, just an easy silence broken only by the sound of something popping as it cooked in the oven.

"Well, I suppose I should find Ryuzaki," he said before draining the rest of his coffee and sliding out of the booth, blinking as his eyes tried to readjust to the dimness inside.

"No need." Near's murmur registered just as he caught sight of the man himself leaning against the island nearby, and his fingers clenched spasmodically around the mug's handle as his heart missed a beat.

Light had never considered himself jumpy, but this was the second time in two days that Ryuzaki had nearly startled him just by watching and saying nothing. He really needed to stop drinking coffee on an empty stomach since that was only making it worse.

Ryuzaki wore a half-smile on his face, apparently completely aware of Light's discomfort as he pulled his hands out of his pockets and stepped away from the island. How long had he been standing there?

"Light-kun, good morning," Ryuzaki said in that almost cheeky manner he had used in Japan, at least before their disastrous interview. It was deceptively light-hearted for Light knew that the man was as good at feigning emotions as he had been. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"No, I've only had coffee." There wasn't a hint of malice in his voice, only vague cheer to reflect Ryuzaki's own. It had been a stretch to find the right voice and mask for that brief statement, but maybe his acting skills weren't as far gone as he thought they were. It might have been his imagination, but he thought the softest of chuckles came from Near. The boy's face was as blank as ever when he glanced at him, those unreadable orbs still on the puzzle.

"You need to eat something, Light-kun." Something in the tilt of Ryuzaki's head was incredibly patronizing, as though he was scolding Light for being foolish.

"I don't usually eat breakfast." His reply grew more clipped as his nerves frayed.

"I'll not have you fainting on me downtown because you're malnourished." Light stared balefully at him for bringing up that long-ago incident, but the glare rolled right off Ryuzaki's placid exterior. Where had his incredibly distant 'employer' gone? This kind of familiarity wasn't welcome coming from him.

"Oh, _we're_ going downtown, are we?" Light forced himself to get out of the booth in a nonchalant manner, lazily picking up his coffee mug and refilling it at the coffeepot though he didn't actually want any more. Maybe he could just nurse it for a while without making himself nauseous. He didn't feel like humoring Ryuzaki so early in the morning, whether he was paying him a salary or not.

"Did Light-kun miss the note under his door?" There it was again, the third-person manner of addressing him. When had he last used that so deliberately? It was doubly annoying now since he was still using that sweetly condescending tone. Light contemplated saying that he hadn't seen it, but suddenly he didn't feel like playing this game anymore. It wasn't as though he actually objected to going downtown.

He just wished Ryuzaki would _ask_ him to go, not order him around like a recalcitrant child.

Agreeing to work for him hadn't made Light a servant, someone blindly following his orders. However, as he studiously avoided looking at the man nearby, he wondered just how long he planned to lie to himself.

"I saw it," he replied, feeling the fight drain out of him as he leaned against the counter, mimicking Ryuzaki's prior pose. He didn't have the stamina to fence with Ryuzaki, but something told him that if he was going to train with the other man for a year, he was going to get _very_ good at it.

"When did you want to leave?" he asked, sipping at the coffee as mild weariness dragged at him.

"Soon," he answered simply. Ryuzaki moved to stand a few feet to his side, opening the cupboard over the coffeepot. Light still didn't look over at him, his glazed eyes losing focus in the direction of the island instead.

"You need to eat _something_ , Light-kun. You're losing weight." Light glanced over at the much softer voice, wondering if he heard _concern_ in his tone to match the unexpected words, but Ryuzaki wasn't looking at him. He took down a tin of loose tea instead before removing himself from Light's personal space. Light watched him start to fill a tea ball with the leaves, seeing nothing resembling emotion on his face.

The man was a complete enigma.

* * *

"This won't work," Ryuzaki stated, handing Light's cell phone back to him, clasped daintily between two fingers as though it was diseased. He had taken the back off the phone and pulled the battery out to read the specifications, somehow managing to touch it with only his thumbs and index fingers the entire time. "We'll have to get you a new one. It's incompatible with our networks."

Light shrugged and put the phone back in his room. Ryuzaki hadn't come in, instead asking Light to bring it out to inspect it before they left. It wasn't as though he was attached to the device; it had only been a calendar for the last year, as well as an infrequent source of irritation when it rang.

"What about the vehicle?" Light asked as he closed and locked the door after getting his jacket out of the closet. "Do I need a new car as well?" Ryuzaki looked at him for a moment as they started walking, an eerily wide grin on his face as he bit down on one thumbnail, the rest of his fingers splayed.

"Light-kun," he said around his thumb. "If you think you're going to drive my Rolls Royce, you are _quite_ mistaken." Light couldn't help a bemused smile at that. If he wrecked that car, Ryuzaki wouldn't have to pay him anything… for the rest of his life.

"Is that all that's on the agenda for today? A new phone and a new car?" Light tried to ask that in an off-hand manner, but the nonchalant words were completely at odds with the preposterousness of buying a car on a whim, as if it was mere groceries or lunch. "I need a haircut, too." His comment sounded absurdly petty in comparison, and he felt embarassed for admitting it.

"That's all." Ryuzaki shrugged. "I can either leave you in the city or find a café in which to wait."

"I don't know my way around that well yet." Light paused as more questions occurred to him. "What kind of car are we talking about? Am I responsible for the insurance or part of the payments?"

"When I said we'll pay for your training, Light-kun, I meant it. We can always sell the car back when you're done." Ryuzaki's monotone sounded somewhat exasperated with him, and the vague reference to a third party was there again as he refrained from revealing his identity. "As far as what kind, that's your choice. Just no sports cars."

"Why not? Do you think I'll have too much fun with them?" Against his will, he found the thought of tearing down some remote highway appealing, as though with enough speed, he could leave all of his issues behind: the depression, the lethargy, the ennui...

"They're a waste." Ryuzaki's reply, while still delivered in a deadpan, snapped Light out of his reverie with its air of finality.

He felt his half-formed smile freeze and melt away when Ryuzaki said nothing more. Light wished for a moment that Wammy was coming with them just to make things easier to bear, but he couldn't use the older man as his crutch. Things would get easier with time, surely.

* * *

Three hours later, Light had a new phone in his jacket pocket, and he was watching Ryuzaki invent some creative lies as he and a dealer haggled over the price of Light's future car. Light had declined Ryuzaki's offer to do the negotiations himself since he had no idea what to discuss that might bring the price down.

He fondly thought back to their entrance when he had expressed an interest in the Mercedes-Benz dealership. The initial reaction to having a Rolls Royce pull into the parking lot had been predatory glee as the employees flocked to it like moths to a flame. Seeing the glee change to consternation when Ryuzaki stepped out in his typical jeans and nondescript coat suffused him with a twisted sort of joy. Light had tried not to laugh at their flummoxed expressions. They had addressed Light at first since he was dressed far better, but Ryuzaki's more self-assured manner soon got their attention.

After convincing the dealers to give them some time to think, he and Ryuzaki had meandered through the lot as Light tried to figure out what he wanted when all the numbers meant nothing to him. C320, CLS550, and S63 AMG conjured no images in his head, unlike _Lamborghini_ or _Ferrari_. Ryuzaki knew much more about luxury sedans than Light, and for a while, things had been strangely comfortable as they exchanged information, as if they were only distant acquaintances rather than strangers. Ryuzaki didn't once address him in the third person, and there hadn't been any tension-filled silences after that morning.

When Light came back a second time to one particular car, the dark-haired man actually complimented his choice, saying it was both subdued and classy. Any power the compliment might have had was ruined by Ryuzaki's disinterested delivery, but Light still felt good about the decision from his place in the driver's seat.

It looked like he was walking away with a Mercedes-Benz sport sedan only a year old. The Roadsters had looked like more fun, but Ryuzaki objected to the fact that they were two-seaters. The one he had chosen was dark gray with a black interior, automatic transmission, and a V-8 engine under the hood. The metal-flake paint reflected the gray clouds overhead and dimly sparkled. He had listened to the dealer chatter about it going from 0-60 mph in 6 seconds, which sounded good even if he couldn't see the reason for all the power. Paradoxically, he hadn't even wanted a sports car until the raven-haired man told him no, but this sedan seemed a good compromise between utility and entertainment.

He stopped looking over the car, feeling a weird little thrill go through him at the thought of owning something he had never even wanted before. He should be listening to what Ryuzaki was saying so he could do this again, if need be. Most of what Ryuzaki was saying seemed to be misinformation about the vehicles they had most certainly not seen at other dealerships, considering this was the only one they had visited this afternoon. He sounded quite convincing as he talked about mileage and the tiny signs of wear and tear that they found on the vehicle. Light saw nothing wrong with it, but Ryuzaki milked every defect for all it was worth, his air of utter confidence making the lies believable.

It was quite amusing to watch. His employer had no qualms about lying to anyone else either, it seemed.

The price came down another £2,000 before Ryuzaki asked to test drive it to make sure that was what he wanted, and Light felt a faint flutter of nervousness. The other man had explained his plan beforehand to Light, and though Ryuzaki would take it out of the dealer's for a test drive, he would be turning it over to Light as soon as they got outside the city limits so Light could get familiar with it before they bought it.

He hadn't ever driven before, so even though he knew how to do it in theory, he didn't want to practice right inside an unfamiliar city with winding streets and plenty of pedestrians. There was also the little matter of his lack of a driver's license to take into consideration. Ryuzaki had been dismissive about that fact, claiming that he would take care of it later that week without explaining how.

In the end, he had nothing to worry about. Ryuzaki switched seats with him once they were surrounded by more hills than buildings, and Light found that driving an automatic was incredibly simple. He felt foolish now for being nervous. The car responded beautifully to even light pressure on the gas pedal, and the engine rumbled reassuringly as they sped along.

After Light had taken a few minutes to get familiar with all the controls, Ryuzaki surprised him by telling him to floor it, looking bored as he did so.

"'Floor it'?" Light queried, his eyes darting over as his hair whipped in the wind from his open window.

"Push the pedal to the floor and see how it handles high speed." He spelled it out as if Light was too dim-witted to comprehend him. "See if it rattles and if the dealer was lying about the governor. He said it was set at 100 mph. The road is clear." Ryuzaki lazily rolled his eyes over at him without moving his head. "Unless you don't want to."

Feeling childish about responding to a challenge like that, Light accelerated anyway while trying not to flood the engine. He rolled the window up as they tore down the road since the wind was blowing all of his hair into his eyes even if he was sorry to lose the breeze. It felt wonderful, even exciting. It was impossible to drive this fast in Japan with the congestion and stoplights everywhere, but out here with all this open space...

He felt free. A grin pulled itself across his features as the car reached top speed, the ride still smooth and the feeling of moving so quickly thrilling. He glanced to the side to see what his passenger thought of it and his mood quickly soured.

Ryuzaki's expression remained disinterested, but the fingers barely visible beneath his long sleeves were digging into the leather seat so hard that every bone stood out in stark relief, as if claws were going to tear through that flimsy skin. His eyes were fixed straight forward, unseeing, or perhaps seeing something that wasn't there.

Light pretended not to notice and slowed back to the speed limit, feeling all the excitement bleed out of him as the car decelerated. This was a crawl in comparison.

"That was exciting," he said, turning his head slightly toward the window as he asked, "Do you think it's worth getting?" He had to fill that weird silence with something, even if it was inane.

"We can sign for it when we return." Ryuzaki's voice was still perfectly controlled, as though he wasn't sitting there with every muscle strained to the breaking point. Light envied that skill.

"Do you want to drive it back?" There was a slight pause while Light avoided looking at him and attempted to be discreet about it as he rolled the window back down.

"No."

* * *

Night fell so quickly here. Light shook his damp hair out as street lamps started to flicker to life beneath a sky still faintly rose-colored from the setting sun reflecting on the clouds. He felt much better now that his hair was no longer obscuring his eyes or nearly reaching the base of his collar. How he had let his appearance go that much was incomprehensible to him now. Like breathing fresh air, leaving his old life behind had done much to clear his head. It was a fleeting feeling and wouldn't last, but for the time he reveled in the newness.

As he walked down the sidewalk from the salon that they had found toward the café where Ryuzaki was waiting, the cooling night air made him shiver. He wished that he had brought a scarf or let the hairdresser dry his hair, but for now he would have to suffer. He nodded to a gentleman passing by him, having noticed that people either smiled or said hello to him if the sidewalks were less crowded, and the man returned the gesture.

By the time he reached the cafe, only to find that Ryuzaki was sitting outside, his teeth were starting to chatter. The dark-haired man looked up from a Kindle he had been reading, sitting with only one knee drawn up since the seat was too small for him to sit 'normally'.

"Care to go inside, Light-kun?" he asked with raised eyebrows as he stood up, powering down the device and hiding it somewhere in his coat. "Don't use my name inside." Light nodded in comprehension, not concerned enough to ask why since he would likely only hear another lie. He also didn't trust his teeth to stop chattering as they headed into the stone building. It was deliciously warm indoors, and Light unbuttoned his coat so more heat could get to him. The last thing he wanted to do was get sick during his first week here.

"Do you need Monday off?" Ryuzaki asked, walking to Light's side as they approached the gleaming wood counter. The building was as small as a coffee shop even though there was a full menu painted on the wall behind the counter. Light briefly perused the Italian entrees and appetizers and looked for something warm to drink instead.

"Why? Are you eager to get started?" Light had wondered what he would do the next day without anything to occupy his time, so it was probably a good idea to begin Ryuzaki's training. The sooner he started living this 'new life' of his, the better things had to become.

"Is there any reason not to, Light-kun?" Ryuzaki bit down again on his thumbnail while his own eyes searched the menu, seemingly waiting for Light to give him a definitive answer.

"Let's start tomorrow," Light replied, looking away from him and toward the cashier instead. He ordered a hot plum white tea since he didn't want any caffeine; it would be a good thing if he could lessen his dependency on stimulants. He paid for it with money he had withdrawn from an ATM in order to avoid the constant currency exchange fees. "It was Wammy's idea to wait, wasn't it?" Ryuzaki had never struck him as the type to wait patiently.

He certainly wasn't the type to take anyone's _feelings_ into consideration.

"It was." It was the first time he'd referred to the older man by his real name in Ryuzaki's presence, but there was no echoing guilt on the other man's features for hiding a similar lie. He hadn't really expected any, for Ryuzaki seemed to be an excellent liar. "He explained his reasons for the name?"

Light nodded as Ryuzaki ordered an Earl Grey tea with cream and sugar, paying before they both moved to the end of the counter. His eyes roamed over the espresso machine, the grill, the window to the kitchen in the back, anywhere but in the other man's direction as the oddest urge surfaced in him.

"Thank you," Light said suddenly, his eyes unconsciously finding Ryuzaki's own under his disheveled hair. He hadn't mentioned his gratitude all afternoon since Ryuzaki's actions in the car had unsettled him, even if the other man had given no indication of distress afterward. However, he didn't actually have any business thanking his employer for something he would need to do his job. "Thanks" was something one said in response to receiving gifts, but the words slipped out anyway. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other in discomfort.

"For the car? It's a business expense." Ryuzaki's usual inexpressive tone made the words additionally dismissive as he brushed off Light's look, studying the rows of loose teas in their glass jars that were stacked in front of him.

"For-"

Not for his Mercedes, which for all its luxury and prestige was just an object, but for _hiring_ him. He wanted to tell Ryuzaki "thank you" for giving him a second chance. He hadn't deserved it and was probably giving the detective serious doubts about his decision given his decreased mental faculties. He felt like the genius that had first met Ryuzaki was someone years dead, someone so much brighter than himself. His embarrassment at his poor showing was making him uncomfortable.

Ultimately, Light wanted to thank Ryuzaki for getting him of out a situation that would have killed him.

"For the car. I really appreciate it." There was no comprehension on Ryuzaki's face to show that he understood what wasn't being said, and Light would never be able to say the words.

"I'm glad you like it," he responded without any actual feeling. The barista set their teas on the counter, and Ryuzaki picked up them up, handing Light the one with a white tea tab hanging outside the cup.

"Let's go home," he said, releasing Light's drink after his charcoal eyes met his, then flickered away. Light glanced down, wrapping his hands around the cup even though it was burning hot as the other man led the way out of the café.

Ryuzaki's look had said something as well, though he had no idea what it was.

Why were words so difficult to use?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So 25 chapters into the story, I finally asked someone to beta it, and recipe for insanity agreed to do it! 
> 
> More behind-the-scenes credit goes to MiaoShou, who lets me question him on the "quaint customs and language" of England and make this more realistic.
> 
> I don't know a thing about luxury sedans, that's all research, though I seriously contemplated going to the Mercedes dealership here and asking to test drive. For research!


	26. SeeSaw

"What time do you want to start tomorrow?" Light asked as he locked his car, finding it exhilarating to have _his own vehicle_. He had a place that belonged only to him in the carport, and somehow that cemented his position here more than having his own room, as if now the other residents had to make room for him.

The question was necessary because it didn't look like Ryuzaki had anything more for him as they walked toward the house. Ryuzaki was swirling the rest of his tea leisurely as they walked, their breath making clouds in the air.

"8 AM?" the man answered with a question of his own.

"Sounds good to me. Where do you want me to meet you?"

"Do you remember how to get to my suite?" At Light's nod, he continued. "Leave your mobile on. It's a large house and calling people is easier than finding them." Light wrinkled his nose slightly as he took the final sip of his tepid tea.

"Even while I'm sleeping?"

"Yes, Light-kun." His delivery made it sound like the answer should have been obvious.

"Is that really necessary?"

"Everyone here does it." Ryuzaki looked back at him after testing to see if the front door was locked. The faint smile that formed wasn't patronizing this time, only gently mocking. "I'm not going to call at 3 AM to chat."

"Alright." Light followed him into the mansion, keeping his coat on rather than hanging it on the hooks. He felt odd leaving his personal possessions exposed in a house he still wasn't familiar with. "Are there any other things I should know? Things everyone else does that I might not think of?"

Ryuzaki rolled his eyes up to contemplate the ceiling before coming back to meet Light's.

"We can discuss it tomorrow." Light raked a hand through his bangs as Ryuzaki turned to go down the main hallway without saying anything more. So there were things left to discuss, but he didn't feel like informing Light right now. He didn't know if it would be appropriate to demand that Ryuzaki tell him that night. For possibly the first time, the other man wasn't getting on his nerves, and he wanted to keep it that way for a little longer.

"See you in the morning, Ryuzaki!" He called to remind the other man of basic etiquette before heading toward the kitchen to dispose of his cup.

"Good night, Light-kun." A faint chuckle colored the bemused reply. Light was unable to keep from rolling his eyes at the other man's back.

It might be a very long year.

* * *

"Fancy meeting you here," Matt said by way of greeting when Light meandered into the sun room, carrying a book from one of the libraries in the house.

"Hi, Matt," he replied, taking one of the chairs closest to the windows so he could look up at the trees partially obscuring the moon outside. The darkness of the room made it possible to see outside rather than reflecting the room's interior. The design was brilliant, and he felt almost like he was sitting in the midst of the garden outside. He would have to go look at it during the day since it looked extensive.

Even at night, the solarium was starting to feel like the most comfortable room to be in. His room was too utilitarian to spend time in, especially since he had nothing with which to amuse himself. After 9 PM, the house grew too quiet and since he wasn't tired yet, it seemed only natural to go where there might be other people.

His jet lag was slowly going away, killed by stomach-turning amounts of caffeine and by trying to sleep even when he wasn't tired. He wanted to read for an hour or so before retiring so he would have time to shower and get breakfast before meeting Ryuzaki. The man seemed determined to make sure he ate it, after all.

"Did you go car shopping today?" Matt asked his DSi or his PSP. Light couldn't see well enough in the dim light to figure out which one it was, but he was grateful for the dark since it gave the public room an air of privacy. The younger man was seated a few rows back, but the room's excellent acoustics and emptiness made it easy to hear him.

"I did."

"And-?" Matt's voice rose as he tapped his foot even though it was hanging off the chair's arm and nowhere near the floor.

"I got a Mercedes." Light settled back into his chair, still partially turned toward Matt even though he seldom looked at him. It just seemed polite, somehow.

"Nice," Matt's eyebrows rose when he did glance up at Light. "Ryuzaki's pick or yours?"

"Mostly mine," he chuckled at the easy grin on Matt's face. Matt seemed to understand Ryuzaki's forcefulness far too well. "He didn't want to get me a McLaren Roadster, so I got a sedan instead."

"Pity. That's a gorgeous car. Too expensive for work, though."

"Don't I know it." Light had blanched looking at the price tag on one. Ryuzaki had answered his phone at one point and let Light wander by himself before steering him away from the sports cars again once he ended his call. The Roadster was only worth _four times_ what his sedan had cost. "What about you, Matt? Do you have a car too?"

"Sort of," Matt answered, his eyes back on his game. "It's the one in the back with a cover over it. I almost never drive it."

"Why not?" The redhead shrugged at Light's question.

"I don't need to. I can either walk to town or ride with Mr. Wammy or Roger."

"That's a long walk." Light noticed with some amusement that now everyone was referring to 'Watari' as Wammy, as if word had gone around that it was safe to refer to him by that name now.

"It is." Matt's dismissive remark seemed to close the conversation and Light turned back around, opening the novel that he had found earlier and leafing through it. A comfortable silence ensued as they each indulged their individual pursuits, and Light found that he was starting to enjoy this as a nighttime routine.

It was a shame that talking to Ryuzaki wasn't as easy as talking to Matt.

He might actually _learn_ something about Ryuzaki, in that case.

* * *

At 7:50 AM the next morning, Light knocked on Ryuzaki's door. He could definitely understand Wammy's desire for the children to socialize in the common rooms; it felt so invasive to go pound on the door to someone's private room without knowing if the person was even in there. Light would never go to visit his neighbors in his apartment complex or the ones around his parents' house, and this felt too similar for him to feel comfortable doing it.

To Light's surprise, Ryuzaki opened the door. He had expected the older man to shout that he could come in, as he had, when he had greeted him from out of sight when Light went to his hotel. That had been a test, one of probably hundreds that Ryuzaki had put him through that night. At least, that was what Light was going to tell himself to excuse the man's behavior.

"Come in." Ryuzaki turned away, returning to a tray of coffee or tea that was sitting on a low, glass-topped table between the two couches in the room. Light closed the door behind him since it felt too strange to leave it open even if the other man hadn't asked him to do so. Ryuzaki's sitting room seemed much larger during the day with the light from the wide-open windows chasing all the shadows away.

The older man was dressed the same as he always was, in a white shirt and blue jeans with bare feet. Perhaps he had a whole wardrobe full of the same outfit. He had to, since he didn't smell like he was wearing the same clothes everyday.

Feeling foolish at such an uncharacteristically rude thought, he looked around, at a loss as to what to do now. He had his phone on him, but Ryuzaki hadn't told him to bring his computer or books or anything else. He put his hands in his pockets and just stood there, glancing around at the television over the empty fireplace, the cream-colored sofas, one end table with a lamp and the remnants of Ryuzaki's breakfast, and the stacks of books on the other table.

He felt _so_ awkward. His heartbeat was audible in the oppressive silence.

"You can sit down, Light-kun," Ryuzaki finally said, looking up from where he had positioned himself on one sofa. He was stirring whole cubes of sugar into his tea, the sight of which was already starting to make Light queasy. "You ate breakfast?"

"I did," he answered, feeling like he was checking a box on some checklist of Ryuzaki's.

"Good. I have coffee here, if you want any." He picked another sugar cube out of the bowl on the tray while Light walked around and sat on the other sofa, finding that closer proximity to Ryuzaki did nothing to ease his awkwardness.

"Not right now, thank you." To his horror, the dark-haired man ate the cube whole. He felt his nearly empty stomach do flips.

"Schedule," Ryuzaki said, seeming to have no trouble talking around the block of sugar. "We can start at eight, Monday through Friday, and break for lunch if necessary."

"Alright." The phantom pain in his teeth from contemplating that much sugar almost made him miss Ryuzaki cocking one barely visible eyebrow.

"Light-kun is comfortable with me not specifying an end time?" He had messed something up, if Ryuzaki's use of that _pet_ name was any indication. It felt normal to have Matt and Near call him just 'Light' in English, but Ryuzaki continued to call him 'Light-kun' no matter which language he used.

"Should I be _un_ comfortable with it?" He responded with the man's own irritating habit of answering questions with more questions. Almost in slow-motion, he could see the feral gleam in Ryuzaki's eyes as a very unkind smile started to form.

"Forget I said that," he said quickly, realizing that things were only going to get antagonistic if he kept that up. "I don't see any reason to since it's only the first day."

"Better," the other man said ambiguously, his face blanking completely in that eerie parody of Light's own masks. He picked up his cup and leaned back against the sofa, his legs stretched out rather than in a crouch. Somehow it looked strange to see Ryuzaki sitting normally.

Light decided to have a cup of coffee after all since it would give him something to do with his hands. He poured the steaming liquid out of the carafe and added a splash of cream as disheartening thoughts circled in his head.

He was going to deal with Ryuzaki for a _year?_ How was that even possible if this morning was any indication?

"You asked what other things the people in this house do that you might not think of." Inwardly he sighed as Ryuzaki started talking. Somehow it made the air easier to breathe.

"I'm not sure how much Near told you, but the children here come from many different countries, selected from the other orphanages Mr. Wammy runs. He tests them extensively beforehand before bringing them here. When they get here," he stopped stirring his drink and fixed Light with those penetrating eyes and Light forgot what he was doing at the sheer intensity of his gaze.

"When they get here, their pasts are erased. That is part of Matt's job, to expunge every remnant of their identities in government systems and records. It is for their protection, so that no one can try to exert control over them. The names by which you know the ones you have met are not real, and there are no records kept here of their existence."

"So Matt is a hacker." His mind latched onto the least jarring bit of knowledge that Ryuzaki had explained, and he nodded. "'Ryuzaki isn't your real name either." Not that he didn't already know that, but he felt inclined to point it out.

Little did 'Ryuzaki' know that he knew far more than just that. What would it feel like to say, "Your name is really _L_ , isn't it?" How self-important would Ryuzaki look then?

"Correct." Light blinked as his thoughts returned to the conversation. "I tell you this so you know exactly what 'operations security' means here. The children around you have no identities, yet they all carry false identification that is fabricated here."

"Am I to have it as well?" He took a sip of the coffee, needing the caffeine to deal with the onslaught of information. Otherwise, his head was going to start hurting.

"Yes. You'll also have a bank account here under the same name. Anyone monitoring your account in Japan would be very curious as to your affluence in an unemployed status."

"Unemployed?" He hadn't asked for details on what Ryuzaki had told his employers given how tired he was the other day. He knew he wasn't going to work for them for at least a year, but how was that going to happen? Was Ryuzaki going to get him fired? He didn't want that on his permanent record.

"Yes. That is something I haven't worked out yet since I want your input. The NPA does not mind that my employer has requisitioned you, but in a few weeks they will want you back." He looked at Light, a faint smile on his features. "And they can't have you."

"Right," Light smirked slightly at the connotation of those words, raising the coffee to his mouth. "So... what do we do?"

"If Light-kun will pardon my frankness, he can die."

Light choked.

The cup made it back to the table somehow intact, but he was more concerned with re-learning how to breathe than the hot liquid burning his hands. Snatching a napkin from the tray, he tried to quell the retching coughs as the man across from him seemed amused at his predicament.

"Are you _joking_ , Ryuzaki?" he finally rasped, his throat raw from hacking. The infuriating man was still grinning that demonic pixie smile.

"I did not think Light-kun would like that explanation." Light glared at him, dumbfounded.

"No. No, I don't. Not at all." He couldn't be more emphatic than that. If anything, that would only put him in indentured servitude to the man for the rest of his life. What would he do without an identity after he stopped working for him, for _L_? Drift nameless and be paid under the table, never to do government, intelligence, or police work again?

"Why is Light-kun so averse to the idea?"

"Are you serious?" There was no expression on Ryuzaki's face, which only made the question more irritating, as though Light had no business objecting to such a sensible idea.

"What would I do after- after working for you? What do I do without a name for the rest of my life?" He couldn't believe he was having this conversation. Was Ryuzaki not only socially retarded, but an _idiot?_

"You would use your new one. You are not the first one to do this, Light-kun." Finally, Ryuzaki had stopped talking down to him, and that calmed him down slightly. Very slightly.

"Then what happens? Do I never return to Japan in case someone recognizes me? What agency will hire someone with no background? What would my _family_ think about my dying? How would I ever see them again?" He lapsed back into Japanese as his irritation overcame his ability to express himself fast enough in English.

"Light-kun." Ryuzaki's quiet voice stopped him, and he realized that he was breathing hard. He tried to take deeper breaths as the other man set down his cup and leaned forward slightly. Those dark eyes found his but didn't pin him in place this time, merely seeming earnest.

"I want you to listen to all I have to say before you walk out of here." Light felt his lip curl at that, as if Ryuzaki knew every thought going through his head and could predict his every damned action.

"I do not appreciate you bringing up irrelevant information to avoid contemplating my suggestion. If you don't want to take it, say so; don't try to make me seem foolish.

"If you cared at all about going back to Japan, you would not have come here. You gave up on your job as well, and you will never go back to similar work. It is an insult to your intelligence and beneath you." This conversation was starting to feel far too familiar as Ryuzaki seemingly read his thoughts about his job.

"Light-kun, you don't care about your family either. You've made no attempt to contact them since arriving, and they were not enough to stop you from leaving them for a year with no notice." Light felt his head tilting the slightest bit to mimic Ryuzaki's bird-like manner as he felt the pressure in his head building.

How he was starting to _hate_ his perceptiveness, especially when everything he was saying was true.

"I've made my point." Ryuzaki looked down and picked up his coffee cup. Far from being haughty about being correct _again_ , the dark-haired man only looked subdued, almost meek.

It was unnerving. This was nothing like how he had acted in the hotel, self-assured and confident in his knowledge.

He tried not to let the door slam behind him as he left without a word.

* * *

An hour later, Light heard his phone ring as he crunched through the melting remnants of snow on the grounds. The unfamiliar ring tone jarred him out of the thoughts swirling formlessly in his head.

Numbly pulling the device out of his pocket, he glanced at the number on the display. He hadn't yet put any numbers into his phone, so the caller could be anyone from Wammy to a telemarketer to _L_ himself.

Old habits died hard.

He pushed the volume key, which would keep the phone from continuing to ring as he put it back in his pocket.

* * *

L let go of the curtains as the pre-programmed voicemail started to play, refusing to watch Light's lazy trek around the property any longer.

He couldn't call Wammy. Light was his probl- _project_ , and he could handle him.

However, he hadn't counted on it being this much work. He had wanted the challenge of training another genius and knew that Light was perfect for the job... but it was hard. Light's depression had pervaded his life, making him hard to speak to and reason with since he had grown so accustomed to only seeing the tiny box that he was living in right now.

It was as if his concept of the future only extended as far as tomorrow. The fact that he asked so few questions and was willing to be told what to do showed that he didn't care what would happen to him the next day, much less years into the future. While he was glad that Light had realized his life was going nowhere since it got him to Wammy House, it was also damning as well.

So L had been slightly tactless in suggesting that they stage Light's death; he was mostly joking about that, after all. What he had wanted Light to do was come up with a better idea, one that they could develop together. It was another test, a simple way to get him to start generating possibilities and think 'outside the box', and it had gone horribly wrong.

There was something else going on here. However, if he couldn't even talk to Light without having the younger man storm off, he was never going to figure it out.

He had mainly been observing Light so far because Light actually _spoke_ to Matt and Near, whereas their exchanges were limited to work. He was far better at observation than interaction anyway. As long as someone else was doing the work to get Light to open up, he saw no reason not to stand by and reap the benefits. He was not arrogant enough to think that he had any skill at conversation.

His past attempts at it had failed miserably, after all.

Finishing off the rest of his drink, he set about tidying up the table as those thoughts were buried like every other fragment of emotion.

Light would come back, eventually. He just needed some time to himself since L could see how being told the truth like that would antagonize him. He had reacted badly when L had told him that he was wrong and lying to himself the first time. He wasn't surprised that the same thing had happened again, hence his attempt not to gloat afterward. L knew he needed to work on his delivery.

If Light managed to stay out until noon, he might go out himself since Light wasn't answering his phone. He could offer to take him to lunch or do something else that didn't involve work. L knew he was poor company, but even poor company was better than none. He couldn't depend on Wammy to repair his relationship with Light every time he fouled things up.

Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, though.

He took his tray downstairs, depositing it on the counter so the housekeeper could take care of it with the breakfast dishes. The sounds of the children chattering during one of their breaks in class met his ears as he climbed the steps, the noise making the silence upstairs more profound. He turned after reaching the top of the stairway, glancing down at the odd child crossing the hall and breathing in and out slowly.

_Dammit._

He turned and headed back to his room, intent on finding his jacket and a pair of shoes.

* * *

"Light-kun." Light glanced up at the sound of his name. He had heard the other man coming, but he hadn't felt like looking up until the person got closer since he was fairly certain of his identity.

Ryuzaki had stopped about 3 meters away, seemingly not wanting to invade his personal space. His hands were in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, and that was the only indicator that he wasn't entirely comfortable. It was a great deal more than the man usually showed as far as emotions.

"Hello, Ryuzaki," he deadpanned, turning again to look out over the semi-frozen pond in front of him. He had come across the pool during his walk and had stopped here during his second or third lap around the house. His thoughts had been mostly blank as he meandered, and he didn't have any idea how long he had been out here. It wasn't cold enough to make him uncomfortable, and the sun was hidden behind clouds so the snow wasn't blinding him.

He wasn't feeling sadness and he wasn't upset. He just didn't feel like going back into the house yet. He felt nothing again, like being angry this morning was just a memory of seeing an actor on a television screen.

He was tired.

"Did you want something?" Maybe that would make Ryuzaki speak to him and stop standing there, mute.

"That's my line."

"What?" he asked, turning his head so he could see Ryuzaki.

"I asked you that the other day." To his surprise, the other man smiled sheepishly, and the honest emotion was almost shocking.

"I'm..." Ryuzaki looked at the trees to the right of Light as he seemed to search for the right words. "I did not speak very tactfully this morning."

"No, you didn't." He looked back at the pond.

Silence.

"Could we try again?" Ryuzaki hadn't moved, no rustle of clothing met his ears.

"I don't know, Ryuzaki," Light rubbed at his forehead as a too-familiar headache surfaced. It wasn't so much that he didn't know as he didn't _care_. He was already in England and he wasn't going anywhere. It wasn't as if he could escape Ryuzaki.

"I have never tried to train someone before, Light-kun, so things might be awkward at first." His words sounded forced, as if he had rehearsed this little speech or was side-stepping other things that he wanted to say.

Apparently, Ryuzaki had trouble saying that he was _sorry_ , since that was the only thing lacking in this conversation.

"You don't say," he droned tonelessly. He turned from the pond back to Ryuzaki.

"Let's go back inside," Light said. He didn't feel like answering the other man's question. Could they try again? Of course, but only because Light had no other options.

Did he _want_ to try again?

That was another story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could also be titled "Bag of Cats", but since I settled on the one-word titles, I'm stuck. Anytime I write those two interacting, that's what I think of. That or porcupines.
> 
> Thoughts? Happy that Light didn't find the insta-cure for depression and take all the angst out of this story?


	27. Momentum

The walk back to the house was conducted in silence, Light feeling like an errant child summoned back after a temper tantrum. He dreaded any further 'training' that day, afraid that he would find himself outdoors again due to his inability to deal with the other man's habit of cutting to the core of him with a few well-placed slices, heedless of the damage he was doing. It was immature of him to run from Ryuzaki, but he had _not_ wanted to stay in the room with him any longer.

"Where did we leave off?" Light asked to break the sound of them crunching through the thin layer of snow. The silence only made their proximity unnerving.

"We were coming up with a plan to end Light-kun's contract with the NPA. That can wait, though." Ryuzaki didn't sound very eager to pursue that topic of conversation again either. "We'll print your new identification and open a bank account instead. Later this week, we'll secure your driver's license."

"Why later?" Light found himself asking the question, but he didn't have a whole lot of concern for the answer. There was silence, and good manners prompted him to speak, that was all.

"It involves traveling." He looked over at the other man, who was biting down on his thumbnail absently after that vague reply.

"Where are we traveling _to_?" It looked like Light wasn't going to get anywhere in this conversation without asking him outright, almost as if Ryuzaki was forcing him to ask questions.

Light frowned as part of him applauded Ryuzaki's cleverness. That was exactly what he was doing, and Light was playing right into the other man's hands.

"I haven't decided, so Light-kun is free to choose. France or Belgium?" What an odd question. Unfortunately, Light didn't know a thing about either, other than the basics from studying them in school.

"I have no preference."

"France it is. They have better desserts." Nothing had changed in Ryuzaki's voice, but there was the faintest of smiles playing about his mouth, as if he was a child anticipating treats. "You can work on your French there."

"Don't they speak French in Belgium too?" If he recalled correctly, they had several official languages.

"Yes, but it's best to learn from a native so your accent is authentic."

"I'm sure." He looked back ahead as they came to the front door. "How is my English?"

"Much better than it was, Light-kun. The accent isn't as strong, and you sound more confident."

"Good," he said simply, feeling too unsettled by the seeming compliment to say 'thank you'. He could already hear himself trying to emulate Near and Ryuzaki's speech rather than Matt's, whose manner of speaking he had been learning in high school and college. It was challenging to remember to put the accents on different syllables and change the pronunciation of his vowels.

"There is more to do than getting your identification." Ryuzaki pulled open the door so they could get out of the chilly air. "You need an alibi, a persona with a reason for being in England, one for every card you carry. How to make a believable one is your first lesson in counterintelligence, the art of denying information. Ready to begin?" Ryuzaki slipped off his jacket and stood watching him, presumably anticipating getting started.

"Sure," Light replied with genuine interest. He would rather learn how to play a new game than speculate in barely controlled animosity how to get himself out of his employment contract. To emerge victorious in this challenge, he would have to manipulate conversation rather than chess pieces or mahjong tiles. The inherent difficulty made it fascinating to contemplate.

Years ago, he had considered himself socially adept, able to get whatever information or favors he needed from people. Now that his interest in other people had waned to the thinnest of crescents, controlling others through conversation only wore him out. No one had anything he wanted anymore.

Ryuzaki turned and headed down the hall, the motion snapping Light back to the present. Hurrying to knock the gray slush off his shoes, he scrubbed them on the rug in the entryway before following Ryuzaki.

"We can discuss it on the way. Roger should have your information already, and Matt will put you into the system once you have your ID. Your job is to fabricate the story to explain yourself and know it completely." Ryuzaki had his thumbnail in his mouth again, and his large eyes glanced sidelong at Light. "If you have not already inferred, proficiency in mendacity is key in this profession."

"I had an inkling," Light smiled a little to offset his sarcasm. It might be couched in pretty terms, but Ryuzaki was essentially saying that he would be an excellent liar by the end of this training.

"I trust Light-kun has no qualms about that?"

"None whatsoever, _Ryuzaki._ " He smiled with all of his teeth showing, even scrunching up his eyes in terribly fake merriment. "I understand the need for protecting secrets, even if it involves lies." Oops. He was coming too close to being antagonistic again, as well as showing Ryuzaki all of his cards.

"Does it bother Light-kun so much that my name is false?" Ryuzaki's passive, almost bored expression made getting annoyed seem like too much work.

"I'm sure I'll become accustomed to the idea. So, counterintelligence?" Light tried to steer the dialogue back to something more interesting and less potentially irritating.

"Mendacity," Ryuzaki corrected him as they walked, looking amused at his attempt to direct the conversation. "There are indicators of it that you must avoid when describing and acting out your 'persona'. It's a matter of creating a personality and making sure not to deviate from it in speech or action. How are your acting skills, Light-kun?"

So much for a less irritating topic. Before Light could say anything, Ryuzaki continued in feigned haste, as if to remind himself of Light's credentials. "You do have experience profiling?"

For a moment, Light contemplated punching the other man.

"Only in training," he tried to say in an offhand manner when inwardly, he seethed.

Did Ryuzaki want a bloody _resume_ of how little he had accomplished in the NPA? His job description had been 'errand boy and typist' for the last year; he hadn't done a bit of profiling work. Ryuzaki _knew_ that, and what he was really asking with that innocent inquiry was: did he actually have any skill at it?

His face burned at yet another reminder of his inadequacy, and the smile fizzled away when Ryuzaki looked ahead. Misdirected rage and violence would accomplish nothing.

Light had to remind himself that he had put that behind him, as Ryuzaki had confirmed earlier, and he would never go back to that particular job. It would be impossible at this point. Now that he had stepped outside the tiny cage his life had become in that job, the person he was now looked in and felt no desire to return. It was suffocating in there, completely unfulfilling.

Ryuzaki's voice dragged him back from distressingly frequent bouts of self-contemplation.

"Knowing how to profile will help you develop a well-rounded individual with consistent traits. Later today, I will show you the indicators I mentioned and tomorrow you'll practice avoiding them." Ryuzaki stopped outside an open door, turning to face Light, and Light hoped his inner turmoil wasn't showing in his lack of expression. "This is Roger's office."

Near had shown him this room during the tour, but they hadn't gone inside since Roger hadn't been in at the time. Ryuzaki stepped inside as if he belonged there, not bothering to knock or greet the older gentleman behind the desk.

The man rose to shake Light's hand and introduced himself as the co-founder of Wammy House. Without preamble, he ushered Light into a smaller room on the side to take his picture for his identification. Light found it amusing that no one in this house wasted time with pleasantries and instead got right to business.

Only a few minutes later, Light had a card still-warm from the printers bearing the name 'Lucian Nakimura'. Of course he would have a Japanese surname since there was no avoiding his looks even if he didn't have typical Asian coloring. Nakimura was fairly common and wouldn't stand out. However, 'Lucian' was suggested by Ryuzaki, perhaps because it was so similar to Light's real name. According to Ryuzaki, the best lies had an element of truth, and Lucian meant 'light'.

Light preferred the French pronunciation of 'Lucien' instead, but Ryuzaki said rather dismissively that Light's French wasn't good enough to justify that background. It made too much sense for Light to want to argue over petty aesthetics, so he let it go. As they left the office, he tapped one thumbnail against the card, spinning a web of lies to justify his presence here.

Perhaps Lucian was born here, or maybe his parents had relocated here for a job when he was young and had given him an English name so he wouldn't stand out so much. Unfortunately, Light's accent was too strong for that, so he looked for a better explanation. Maybe Lucian had just come here for school. Light could look into programs at Winchester University to make that story more detailed. Perhaps he was even here just to tutor at Wammy House…

"Light-kun is already hard at work?" Ryuzaki queried, snapping Light out of his thoughts. The other man looked pleased rather than upset.

"I was." He smiled a little, feeling like he was doing something right as he pocketed the card.

"We'll see Matt now to set up your accounts. Tell me about Lucian on the way."

* * *

A somewhat dazed Light sat at the kitchen's breakfast nook after eight that night, the room plunged into semi-darkness except for the one light over the stove as well a hanging lamp over his head. It felt wasteful to leave all the lights on, and he wanted the dark to soothe his headache, not aggravate it.

He had contemplated trying to take notes on all that he had learned in just that afternoon, but there was so much in his head that he worried it would only get hopelessly jumbled if he tried to regurgitate it on paper. Instead, he picked at the remains of his late dinner and tried to make lists in his head, mentally filing the information away.

It was like working with an old, rusted filing cabinet, too many mismatched files and documents in his arms for him to sort without making a mess of them. He hadn't exercised his mind in so long, letting it rot away while performing the same mindless tasks over and over in the NPA and even college and high school. Without a challenge to keep his mind sharp, it had gone to waste. No wonder Matt's DS told him he was old. It took work to get his brain going again, and the law of inertia certainly applied to his thought processes as well.

They had gone to see Matt after getting Light's first new 'identity', as he was starting to think of them. It had taken a brief trek outdoors again to reach one of the buildings in back, which was where Matt did most of his work. The younger man had been reclining, boots on the desk and Wii controllers in his hands, surrounded by a haphazard jumble of computer parts, blinking lights, wires, and more computer screens than Light deemed reasonable for anyone other than a security guard. Matt was all business after they came inside, and 30 minutes later, the story that he and Ryuzaki had worked out on the way became reality.

'Lucian' now had birth records, graduation certificates, and a bank account. He had been born to English and Japanese parents living in Japan, and he was in England to teach at Wammy House and to potentially study at the university. Working out the details with Ryuzaki and Matt had been like a game as they came up with and discarded other ideas, finding loopholes in government and school records where another name wouldn't be noticed.

After that, Ryuzaki made no more personal inquiries and simply starting teaching after he and Light returned to his suite. Without preamble, he had launched into dissertations on the basics of counterintelligence, which was simply denying anyone else the information they wanted while finding out information that they wanted to keep secret. It involved creating a cover story, lying, talking around subjects, artful direction of conversation, and intense observation. Light had to learn to get other people to talk by seeming open and friendly without revealing any information that could be used against himself. It was a very complex dance of words.

They segued into practical application of the 'indicators of mendacity' that Ryuzaki had spoken of earlier as they watched interviews of celebrities, politicians, and televised trials to cement the lesson, pointing out which people were lying and which were being honest based on the actions they took while speaking.

The mind-scramblingly intense instruction was such a far cry from the horror of that morning that Light could barely recall being upset. Whole years had gone by in that span of time.

However, eight at night was a little too late to end training for the day. As he stifled a yawn, he thought that he might give it one more attempt before asking Ryuzaki if they could stop around five or six instead. It was incredibly draining especially at the pace that Ryuzaki was setting, even if it wasn't at all boring. He just worried that he wasn't going to retain all of this information.

The biggest surprise that day had been Ryuzaki's offhand comment that they had covered a sizable chunk of the material he had planned for the next day as well. Despite how exhausted he was, he felt very good about that, as if he was reclaiming lost ground by exceeding Ryuzaki's initial expectations for him.

So the man had no interpersonal skills whatsoever; his redeeming qualities were that he was a very demanding tutor, and he somehow managed to keep Light interested in the material. Whether or not he could keep up this momentum was another story.

Right now Light's headache was so strong that he was almost nauseous, but at least he had eaten most of his dinner before he grew too sick to contemplate it. He leaned his chin in one hand, putting the other across his forehead to massage his temples. There were plenty of painkillers in his room, but he didn't feel like going up there yet. It felt too nice to just let his mind blank, to finally give it a rest...

"How was it?"

The soft voice didn't make Light jump, but it did wake him out of the doze into which he had drifted. Blinking sandpapered eyes, he tried to focus on the ghost-shape to the left of him, the absence of color in the other's clothing giving away his identity even if his voice hadn't already.

"My first day, you mean?" Near nodded in response to Light's inquiry, still hovering outside the nook. "You can sit down. Here, let me move this." Even though the table could have comfortably sat six people, Light pushed his plate out of the way to further convey that there was plenty of room for the younger boy, man, whichever.

"For one, it was interesting," Light continued, trying not to yawn and straining his jaw in the process. "Ryuzaki said you normally cover what I learned today in your first year of school here, is that true?"

"Denying information?" Near looked hesitant about moving as he started to take a step then drew his foot back before finally climbing into the nook. "That is correct. Our identities are the first thing to go upon arriving here, and we have to learn the concept behind getting new ones early on so as not to give ourselves away."

"Does that bother you at all?" Light hoped the question wasn't offensive, but he was curious. He noticed that Near wasn't wearing his scleras this time, likely since it was so dark in the house, but his hugely dilated pupils mimicked the look of the contacts.

"I suppose it might bother some, but those are not usually the ones who come here." Near shrugged slightly, twirling a lock of hair around his finger as he looked out the window. "Desiring fame or recognition for one's achievements is not conducive here. There is a ranking system within the school, much like the one in Japan, but there is no carryover to the outside world."

"'Not usually'?" Light could feel himself about to hit that wall again since Near had been vague, and Near didn't disappoint him with that hint of a smile as his eyes met Light's.

"Later, Light. If no one else does, I'll tell you later."

"Thanks, Near. I feel a step behind everyone else here. You all know _my_ name, after all." It was mildly frustrating to feel disadvantaged by children when he was an adult.

"Should you choose, we can all call you by your new one."

"Word travels fast."

"It does here." The simplicity of Near's statement made him want to laugh, but he settled for a chuckle.

He told Near about some of the other things he had learned, knowing that it would help him to retain the information if he repeated it. Near compared it to the instruction they had received as children, and Light felt better upon finding out that his lesson had been far more intense and in-depth. He had covered more in a day than they had in several weeks. Perhaps he wasn't so disadvantaged after all. Despite the fact that he was enjoying the conversation, his second or third yawn prompted him to think about excusing himself.

"I think I'll be retiring now. Twelve hours makes for a very long day."

"Tell him that," Near advised, one knee drawn up to his chest and his hands resting there rather than spiraling his hair. "He is unlikely to stop otherwise."

"I got that impression. Are you starting work soon?" Light put his silverware on his plate and pushed it to the edge of the stone surface, starting to slide off the bench.

"In a manner of speaking. If work comes, I shall be ready for it, but it's a very flexible job."

"Have a good night, then. It was nice talking to you, Near."

"Likewise, Light. Good night." Light lifted a hand in farewell as he took his dishes to the sink.

As he headed out of the kitchen toward his room, he thought that even though Ryuzaki was still distant and professional, Matt and Near were quite personable in their own ways. Along with Wammy, they were turning out to be far more interesting than any of his other coworkers had been.

* * *

The rest of the week was more of the same. Light awoke early, forced himself to eat breakfast, and tried not to over-indulge his caffeine habit. Some days he caught Near in the kitchen, finishing his 'dinner' before the majority of the children came downstairs for breakfast. The more he talked with the younger man, the more he got the impression that Near went out of his way to stay away from the children even if Light didn't understand all the reasons for it. He sounded like he seldom left the house either, and the knowledge was inexplicably sobering.

It seemed to be a very lonely way to live. In fact, too reminiscent of the last year of his own life, when he had shut himself off from everyone and lost interest in the world outside his apartment and his own circular thoughts. He saw no challenge to his intellect, so he withdrew then bemoaned the fact that his withdrawal only made it impossible to find anything interesting, which only made him sink further into depression… He wondered how Near could chose to do that, or if it was choice rather than survival.

After that, he sought out Ryuzaki in his suite and the training began again. The second day had been harder than the first since Light was unable to recall all the information he'd learned the night before, especially when Ryuzaki continued at his breakneck pace. Light wouldn't admit it so soon, therefore he plowed through the material for the next few days, telling himself that he would look up anything at night that he didn't understand during the day. Too often, Ryuzaki found the gaps in his knowledge and called him out on it. It might have made him start to doubt his ability, but instead he chose to drown his doubts in more information.

Despite his good intentions, he didn't continue to study after Ryuzaki released him. He had tried the first night, sitting in the sun room with _Psychology Today,_ from which Ryuzaki had drawn much of his training on how to tell whether or not someone was lying. He had wanted the medical vocabulary in English, but he went cross-eyed trying to read it after the deluge of information he'd already taken in that day.

So he played Sudoku instead, courtesy of Matt's DS. It was far more relaxing.

He ran errands with Wammy, buying things the children requested or that the older man needed for the house, enjoying the opportunity to go downtown even if he didn't yet have his license. Ryuzaki said that they would take care of that on Friday, though Matt and Roger had happily forged him one in the meantime without consulting Ryuzaki about it.

He was certain it would rile the older man to know they were doing things behind his back. It was extremely childish of him to gloat about it, but too often, Ryuzaki made Light think disparaging thoughts about Ryuzaki's own maturity level, given that he liked keeping secrets and... eating cake. That was _very_ childish, yes.

That weekend, he planned to finally call home. He had been avoiding it because he really didn't know what he wanted to say or what they would want to talk to him about. They had lived in the same house for years, so while they knew much about each other's habits, he didn't feel inclined to share such trivial things as feelings or thoughts with them. Openness was a foreign concept; he didn't know any other way to be with them since they kept to themselves if they didn't need something from each other.

Ryuzaki's words about him not caring about his family had bitten deep, and while he felt terribly guilty about it, he didn't know if he wanted to fix it.

* * *

Thursday evening found Light reading in the sun room, as was becoming customary for him.

"Hey, Light?"

"Yes?" Light looked up from the Regency period novel he had picked up, curious if he could puzzle out the archaic speech patterns. He turned in the chair to face Matt, but the redhead had gotten up and was walking down to the same tier he was sitting in.

"Are you busy?" Matt's expression was unreadable in the dimness even though Light could read the book's text by moonlight.

"Not really. Just working on my literature." The white of Matt's teeth showed as he grinned.

"Want to see what a real sports car is like?"

"You're joking." Light stood, setting _Ivanhoe_ on the table beside him. "You have a sports car and didn't tell me?" Matt nodded. "What kind?"

"You'll have to see it to believe it. You have an hour or two?" Light glanced at his watch; it was only 7 PM. He wasn't doing anything that important right now, and he usually ended up going to sleep around 10 PM anyway.

"Sure, I'm not tired yet. Ryuzaki has been letting me leave earlier so I'm not exhausted after 10 hours of training."

"You made it that long with him?" The younger man looked over at him in disbelief as they left the solarium.

"Twelve on the first day. Sort of," Light answered, not counting the hour or so that he had spent wandering the premises. Matt swore in response, raking a hand through his hair. He messed it up thoroughly when he caught his fingers on the goggles and ripped them askew. "Where are we going?"

"Just to town. I thought you'd want to try her out." Matt pulled his goggles off, straightening his hair before putting them back on his head.

"You're letting me _drive_ it?" Light couldn't help the grin at Matt's nod. He had enough fun just taking his car on the occasional drive with his fake license; he couldn't imagine taking a _real_ sports car down the highway. "What did I do to earn this privilege?"

Matt shrugged, looking unexpectedly serious for a moment. "I don't know; I just felt like it." Light sobered a little at his response, but he was too interested in the car and Matt's unusual generosity to be completely mellowed by it. "You've driven a manual, right? Mine's a stick shift."

"Yes, Mr. Wammy took me out in Roger's car. Ryuzaki refused to go, and I found out why." Roger's car was an ornery old sedan that either bucked wildly before Light stalled it out, or it jerked forward violently if he managed not to stall when he tried to accelerate. Even Wammy had looked a little sick during the first few tries, but it hadn't taken more than 5 stallouts before Light could get it to move, albeit jerkily. His neck still hurt from the whiplash, and he rubbed at the base of his skull to ease the remembered pain.

"Psh, this car is much better than that clunker, trust me," Matt scoffed, and his display of feigned arrogance made Light want to laugh.

He pulled his jacket off the hooks inside the front door since he'd grown a little more accustomed to the idea of leaving it there once he noticed the other adults do it too. Matt was already wearing a vest and long sleeves and looked ready to go. While Light buttoned his coat, Matt pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, gripping one stick between his teeth and drawing it out before replacing the pack.

"Let's go," he said, leading the way out of the house and locking the door behind them.

The soggy ground was dotted with the odd bit of snow, which seemed to fall and melt away within a few days, never lasting very long. It felt almost spring-like in the air, but Light had heard that it would cool back down in a few days.

Matt led the way into the carport, which had sliding doors on the front and back so more vehicles could fit in there. The car he headed toward was nearly hidden in the shadows, draped with a beige car cover that Light had never really paid attention to even after Matt mentioned owning a car.

"Light, meet my baby," Matt said grandly as he picked up one corner of the cover and pulled it back, making sure not to drag it across the car's finish before folding it up. Light stood there, effectively rendered mute as his eyes chased the play of the dim light over the dark blue car's curves, for that was all the car was: elegant, unbelievably dramatic slopes and gullies.

"That's-" he paused, the thought of getting to drive it momentarily overwhelming intelligent thought.

"A Lotus Elise, one of the lightest cars ever made, and damn fast for it." Matt had an air of proprietary smugness. "It's surprisingly cheap too."

"It's beautiful," Light replied with the slightest touch of awe. This was a _real_ sports car. It looked fast just sitting there. Light had actually heard of it since he had briefly looked through car websites as part of Ryuzaki's training. The detective had wanted him to be able to tell the different makes apart to build up his general knowledge.

"Well, get the mud off your shoes and let's take it out. I don't drive it nearly enough." Matt was actually wiping his boots off with a towel that had been hanging on the wall, so Light followed suit when he finished.

The interior was small, giving Light the impression it was built to feel like the cockpit of a jet rather than a car. It was surprisingly comfortable despite being minimalist and snug, as though it was hugging him. He looked over the instrument panel from the passenger seat as Matt lit his cigarette and put the pack and his lighter in a cup holder that he had stuck to the dash. The car's design was so sparing that it didn't even have that.

"I lied earlier. I have ulterior motives, you see," Matt said, exhaling a cloud of smoke just before turning the key, punctuating his words with the rumble of the engine coming to life.

"Oh?" Light queried, trying not to cough before Matt rolled the window down to let the smoke escape.

"I wanted to go into town and since I won't be able to drive back _and_ I won't smoke in your car, we take mine." He turned to Light, the cigarette between his teeth as he grinned and clutched the shifter with one hand, revving the engine a little to tempt Light as he said, "Still wanna go?"

"Of course." Light smiled in response, but he really wanted to ask what Matt meant by not being able to drive back. He had an idea, though, and it was disheartening to contemplate.

"Cool." Matt pulled his goggles down with the hand that wasn't shifting. "Thanks, in advance."

"Trust me, it's no problem." Light had the feeling that Matt wasn't just being generous; something in his attitude seemed too casual, too easygoing, like he was trying not to betray any sort of emotion.

Whatever Light's misgivings were, it didn't sour the excitement of tearing out the front gate and heading for the highway just to test out the car's capabilities. They could have gotten into the city using the back roads through the city's outskirts, but the car's power was wasted by going so slowly through those areas. Matt proved how fast it accelerated by going from a standstill on the ramp leading to the motorway to almost 100 mph in only a few seconds, and Light could only lean back against the seat as the g-forces pushed him back, feeling almost giddy at the rush. The car was so light that it seemed to hop forward when Matt accelerated.

"I tend to speed a bit," Matt commented when he stopped showing it off and slowed down to only slightly above the speed limit. He lit a new cigarette with his old one, tossing the butt out the window when he finished.

"I can't blame you. This is amazing." It was exhilarating, and Light had a hard time keeping a smile off his face at the adrenaline rush from going so quickly. He might have worked for the police in the past, but he didn't really have any compunctions about speeding, as long as it wasn't reckless endangerment. He would have done it himself with this car.

"It _is_ a nice vehicle," Matt agreed, and they settled into silence for the rest of the ride into the city, Light enjoying the sound of the engine and the rush of wind along the vehicle. He couldn't help noticing that Matt was chain-smoking now, which struck him as odd since he only went outside once per night, if at all. Maybe he just did it in the car?

Ryuzaki's education on being observant of everything was bleeding over into every facet of his life, it seemed. He had been that way in the past, but the monotony of his job and the depths to which he sank into depression had been like a cheese grater against his wits, his intelligence. Now he was just starting to recall those long-dormant skills.

They pulled off the highway and headed into the city itself before Matt found a parking lot. Light was sorry to hear him cut the engine before they exited the car. Matt closed his door and held the keys out to Light over the low-slung vehicle's top, pulling his goggles back with the other hand and mussing his hair again.

"Be careful with my baby?" He had that easy grin on his face again, the key ring dangling from the tip of his index finger.

"You're not coming?" Light asked as he took hold of the keys but didn't withdraw it from Matt's grasp. His fingers were itching to drive this vehicle, but something didn't feel right and he was reluctant to take the keys away from Matt.

"No, I have somewhere I want to go. You're free to take her out, drive her around. You have to get _something_ out of this arrangement, after all." Light nodded, his face blank, as Matt slipped his hand out of the key ring, stepping away from the car and turning to walk away.

"I'm trusting you, Light," he said as he gave his salute, touching two fingers to the side of his goggles as he was wearing a hat instead. The words gave the farewell unusual weightiness despite the lighthearted sound of Matt's smiling voice.

"Should I call you in an hour? To see where you are?" It was the first thing he could think of to say.

"Sounds good. Have fun with her." Matt turned, lighting yet another cigarette with the one in his mouth.

He didn't look back, and Light felt very conflicted about leaving right then.

He had started to think of the other adults as casual acquaintances, not quite 'friends', whatever that word meant. He never sought any of them out, but if he came across Near, Matt, or even Wammy, he usually talked to them. He didn't see Ryuzaki outside training; even so, he doubted he would start up small talk with him.

With Matt, it was a little different because the younger man _seemed_ so easygoing. If they were in the same room, they exchanged greetings and small talk about whatever they were doing, but there were still no in-depth conversations. Matt struck him as a very private person despite his informal, familiar speech. He just _sounded_ like the friendliest person in Wammy House because of the way he talked, when in reality he was every bit as closed off as the rest of them.

Light clenched the keys in his fist, looking down at the ground. He didn't know what he was even contemplating, since he didn't think he knew Matt well enough to chase after him and ask him what was going on. Even coming out here was a stretch for him. Ostensibly, he had only done it to drive the car, and Matt had only taken him as a way to get back to Wammy House. There was no messy emotional involvement here, just reciprocal favors.

It still felt wrong to leave the younger man right then even if he didn't know what to do. However, when he looked up, Matt was gone, having disappeared amongst the small crowds drifting through the streets. He could have gone into any number of businesses or crossed over onto another street by now; Light didn't see his trademark stripes anywhere. Matt had solved his dilemma for him.

Light still had his phone in his pocket, though, and he slipped a hand inside to make sure of it. He had Matt's number since Ryuzaki had given him all of the adults' numbers. After debating for a moment, he let go of it, thinking that he could wait an hour. It would be rude to call him and ask him what he was doing. It really wasn't any of his business. Matt was an adult and could take care of himself.

Walking around to the driver's side of the car, he decided that as long as he had free reign with this divine car, he might as well enjoy it. In an hour, he would call Matt and find out where to pick him up, hopefully easing his conscience in the process.

What kind of things could he do in only an hour?

Any misgivings he might have had were washed away with the first rumble of the car's engine as he started it, and he felt much better about taking it out for a little while. Matt had insisted, after all. He wouldn't waste this chance.


	28. Unraveling

The clear sky was spangled with stars, pinpoints of light that only made the countryside luminous enough to distinguish hills and the suggestion of rambling manor houses in the distance. Light raced through the night, pushing the car as fast as he dared when there was no one around him to notice. There was no freedom quite like a fast car, adrenaline, and only himself for company. Even though he started to regret putting the top down since his teeth hurt from the wind that knifed his breath away, it only added to the feeling of speed and he persevered.

One madcap hour after taking the car out, he reluctantly returned it to the parking lot. His hair was wild, rakish even, and he finger-combed the mess back into place before replacing the top on the Lotus. His hands were shaking from a bone-deep chill so he had a hard time getting his phone out of his pocket, much less finding Matt's number in his phone book as he crossed into the more brightly lit streets lined with shops. Fortunately, a café nearby beckoned with the promise of warmth in the golden light spilling from the door. He was inside before consciously making the decision to enter, any thoughts of trying to kick his caffeine addiction far from his mind.

Finally managing to push the right buttons on the phone, he buried the other hand in his pocket and tried to stop shivering. He felt frozen down to the pit of his stomach, and the tension in his muscles was bringing on a familiar headache.

Driving convertibles in winter was a bad idea. His ears felt like ice chips when he pressed the phone to one.

"Hello?" The impersonal greeting made Light check the phone to make sure the number was right. It sounded like Matt, but either he didn't recognize Light's number or he hadn't expected him to call at all.

"Matt? It's Light."

"Has it been an hour already?" Matt hadn't wasted a moment in asking, which made Light start to wonder if he was going to be staying out later than he had bargained for.

"A little more than that," Light answered after glancing at his watch. The other boy laughed in response, but it didn't sound like he actually found anything funny. The laughter was somewhat deranged. "Do you want me to come get you now?"

 _Please say 'yes'_. Light tried not to grimace as worst case scenarios started to play in his head _._

"Sure, why not? I'm on High Street." Before Light could say anything more or even ask where the street was, the call went dead.

"Matt?" He couldn't help asking as he looked at the display, noting that his signal was excellent; Matt had just hung up on him.

 _Damn_. Light closed the phone slowly, sliding it into his pocket as dread pooled in his aching stomach. If Matt _was_ drunk, then things could get very uncomfortable.

He stepped closer to the counter in the cafe, where a cashier had been trying to see if he was going to order or not while he talked on the phone. "Could you tell me where High Street is?"

"Do you want me to draw you a map?" She reached for the register tape, likely all too accustomed to tourists asking for help.

"Is it far?" She shook her head, so Light declined the offer and ordered a coffee. As she explained how to get to the street, he pinched the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to ward off a pounding headache. He was in the middle of drawing a map in his head when he noticed that she was putting spoonfuls of dirt into perfectly good hot water.

His stomach did awkward flips as he stared in horror. _Instant. Coffee._ There was no way he was drinking that, caffeine addict or not. "I'd also like a tea, please."

"What kind?" He thought fast before just ordering a green tea. Would Matt drink instant coffee? He internally winced at the thought. Not likely, since he hadn't seen any of it in Wammy House's kitchen. What did the younger man drink instead? Light wracked his brain to remember what he had seen him making in the kitchen one evening. He had caught the scent of black pepper and cinnamon, something very pungent.

Chai! Matt drank chai without any sugar or milk. He should order one since it would probably be rude for him to have something to drink when Matt had nothing. Good manners were a curse sometimes but at least the tea might start to sober him up.

As he paid, something occurred to him. A scant year ago, Ryuzaki had done the same for him, buying him coffee after he found Light wandering Aoyama, too inebriated to even walk straight. However, Ryuzaki hadn't needed to seek Light out whereas Light needed to find Matt to give him a ride home. Instead, Ryuzaki had subjected himself to Light's intoxicated _idiocy_ of his own volition _._

He hoped the flush forming on his cheeks was just the heat on his thawing skin, not remembered mortification.

As he left the cafe, juggling three drinks in thin paper cups that scorched his still-sensitive bare hands, the thought that he was taking cues on interpersonal relations from Ryuzaki almost stopped him in his tracks. The man was one of the most socially inept people Light knew; it was positively ludicrous.

As he offered the coffee to a man sitting on a bench further up the street, his smile was one of self-mockery rather than friendliness.

* * *

High Street should have been named Long Street. Light had been walking down it for quite some time looking for his erstwhile companion to no avail. He didn't _want_ to call Matt again, and not only because his hands were full with the teas; one odd phone conversation was enough for one night. Once he saw that the street was only for pedestrians, he assumed that if he started at one end, he would run into Matt sooner or later. As the time crept toward midnight, he grew to regret that choice. At least the drinks were still warm.

As he wove in and out of groups of tourists, lovers walking arm in arm, and the occasional parent with a child, he pondered how much Matt weighed and wondered how hard it would be to carry him. Matt was a few inches shorter and skinny so it shouldn't be that difficult. Light really hoped it wouldn't come to that. Maybe the younger man would still be marginally ambulatory?

Finally, the sight of familiar stripes alerted him to Matt's presence about 5 meters ahead, coming toward him. He was staring forward with his goggles down over his eyes, smoking mechanically and leaving a gossamer halo trailing behind him. He didn't so much as glance at Light until he started walking alongside Matt, which only convinced Light further that he was intoxicated since his observation skills were nonexistent.

"Hey" was all Matt said when he finally did acknowledge Light before looking back ahead. At least he was walking in a straight line. That boded well for the walk back to the car; Light might not have to half-carry him and embarrass them both.

"I thought you might want something, since it's cold." He reluctantly proffered Matt's drink, which had been keeping his fingers warm. Matt looked at it in puzzlement as he took it in one gloved hand.

"What's this?" He asked, surprise coloring his voice.

"It's chai. Just the tea, not a latte." When Matt continued to stare at it, Light hoped he hadn't gotten it completely wrong. He searched the files in his head, reviewing the information he had garnered strictly through observation as part of his training. He knew that Near always took black tea with milk, Wammy abstained from caffeine altogether, and Ryuzaki never drank anything that wasn't sweet. He couldn't be wrong, so why was Matt staring at him like that?

"How-?" Matt stopped, biting down on the remainder of his cigarette and fishing out another nimbly with the other hand. He lit the new one with the old, swapped them, and jammed the stub into a bowl of sand atop a trash container on one side of the street, the motion's fluidity born of repetition.

"Observation?" Light answered when Matt didn't continue, uncertain as to what Matt was asking. He watched as the redhead exhaled a smoke ring in the still night air before taking a sip of the tea, his eyes never meeting Light's. "Did you finish your errand?"

Even though he didn't want to stay out only because Matt forced him into it, Light was surprised to find himself unwilling to return to Wammy House right away. The orphanage had grown familiar, almost homey, but something about it was also sterile and unfriendly, like it was full of… strangers.

"No," Matt chuckled darkly, sucking air between his teeth as he held the cigarette to his mouth. His grin looked absurdly false paired with his dead eyes. "I just… walked. That and went through almost a pack of these." He gestured to indicate what he was smoking.

"Do you normally smoke that much?" The question was out before he could come up with a good reason for asking other than to break the silence. It was easy to converse about training and video games, but asking him about his thoughts, even indirectly, was too intimate, something a friend would do.

He wasn't sure what the nature of their relationship was anymore.

"Only sometimes. Stupid, really," Matt answered. He laughed again, the sound the same self-deprecating noise that Light had heard on the phone. His half-lidded eyes finally met Light's, a smirk breaking his normally easy grin in half. "I don't suppose you'd want to get really wasted with me?"

Light stopped walking as he stared at Matt in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

" _Wasted_. Trashed. Pissed. Sloshed. Take your pick of slang." Matt gestured in a random direction as he too slowed to a halt. His expression was a curious mix of doubt and yearning when he turned to face Light, the flippant sound of his words contrived.

"I'd rather not." Light took a sip of his tepid tea to keep the disgust from pursing his mouth. "Once is enough for a lifetime." Matt managed to both laugh and sigh in response, his intrinsic light-heartedness making even his seriousness insincere.

"Didn't think so, but it was worth a try." Matt was smiling, but his eyes showed no feeling as he held the cigarette to his lips and covered his mouth. This strange mirth and hopelessness was unnerving.

Light wondered how Ryuzaki had carried on a conversation with him when Light had been out of his mind. Matt _wasn't_ drunk, but his behavior was just as confusing to read as he was certain his own had been.

Matt flashed a toothy grin and turned back around, sauntering in the direction that they had been walking in, which was not the direction in which the car lay. Light looked down at his cup and swirled the tea lazily.

Should he keep walking or try to steer them back to the car? He took a breath, his center of gravity shifting slowly so he was resting on the balls of his feet.

"Why do you want to, Matt?" Maybe he would only sound as if he was contemplating the idea as he started after the younger man, his steps unsure at first.

"You first." Matt's voice carried back to him.

"I'm sorry?" He pretended not to understand, feeling as though he had been outmaneuvered within the opening moves of this game.

"Ignorance ill becomes you, Light. Why did _you_?" Matt answered immediately, his eyes sharp behind the goggles as he looked over when Light caught up. It didn't matter that Light was older _and_ taller; Matt clearly had the upper hand in this conversation when it was Light that had asked for the information.

Light should have expected that. No one from Wammy House liked being questioned since they either waffled about withholding information, as Near had, or asked their own questions in response rather than answering him, like Ryuzaki. It appeared that Matt was the buying type: Light would have to barter for anything he got from him.

Belatedly, he realized that Ryuzaki's counter-intelligence training was getting to him.

"A lapse in judgment?" He offered, unwilling to go into details at first. Matt raised his eyebrows, only visible because his goggles shifted upward, his expression unimpressed. Much like Ryuzaki, the younger man didn't know how or when to look away when he did hold someone's gaze, his eyes boring into Light's without giving him a respite.

"It was after my graduation from college." He continued, breaking the other's stare as he looked into the far distance. The individual street lights blurred out of existence as he tried to remember why he had done something so stupid all those months ago. Rather, he tried to figure out which words he wanted to use. "I had been sick for days, and I found that the career and life I thought I wanted just wasn't worth it anymore."

" _It?"_

"Living." Light answered shortly, and the silence fell like a hammer. Time seemed to stretch out, dragging at their feet as Light regretted making that statement. Matt walked beside him without saying anything, staring at the cigarette that he was holding for long moments before continuing.

"Did something happen?" The edge had gone out of Matt's voice, his tone curious rather than manipulative now.

"No single event. I just didn't know what else to do."

"I've been there." Matt's voice was low, contemplative, but suddenly he brightened. "Anything come of it?" Jarring as the non sequitur was, it broke the tension that Light had created with his nihilistic statement. Light chuckled at the question, the release of pressure so strong that he felt almost lighthearted as a result.

"Yes, I had a very _interesting_ conversation." His eyes met Matt's for a moment, and the younger man looked amused at Light's expression, reading enough into Light's response to ask the next question.

"Anyone I might know?"

"Ryuzaki, of course."

"He was _drinking_ with you?" Matt's voice was incredulous, the look on his face almost comical with disbelief.

"No, he just found me afterward. He first offered me work that day, if you can believe it."

"Only because I doubt you'd lie about something so strange." Matt was smiling now in amusement, his more jovial nature returned. "You're a very _interesting_ person, Light Yagami." He continued, borrowing the words Light had used.

They meandered up the street, Light contemplating the next move in their game, Matt more than likely waiting for it.

"I don't think you answered my question earlier." Light's statement was simple but effective as Matt pulled the cigarette from his mouth, looking at it with something akin to scorn.

"Right." Matt agreed. He tossed the remainder of his smoke into the receptacle atop the next garbage can they passed. He didn't light another one this time, drinking his tea instead as they walked. "Thanks, for this." He looked down at the cup for a few moments as they walked, his momentary good humor gone.

"I guess… I was thinking about someone." Matt continued, pulling the tea into his chest as if to warm himself as the temperature dropped. The quiet, almost solemn tone of the word 'someone' prompted Light to ask.

"Do you mean... Mihael?" Light ventured, wincing internally at his casual, ill-chosen words. Dead friends probably did not constitute good topics of conversation.

" _Mello_ ," Matt responded immediately. "Nobody called him Mihael." He drummed his fingers on the cup for a moment, seemingly debating something. "Who told you?"

"Near told me his name. All he said was that Mello was your friend."

"Best friend," he corrected. "Only friend, really. Surely you can see that _we_ aren't close." Light took that to mean not only Near but Ryuzaki as well; it only confirmed the feeling he had felt earlier.

"What happened?"

The younger man didn't answer right away, but something in the silence told Light that Matt had heard him. One gloved hand lifted to pull his goggles back slowly. It seemed an eternity that Matt just breathed and Light wondered what he had been thinking to ask that question.

"Car accident." Matt finally stated, his voice empty of emotion as if he was reading an obituary for a stranger. "He got into an accident with my car."

"Your Lotus?" Light doubted this was the case; the cars were fragile as eggshells. Matt confirmed Light's thoughts with a shake of his head.

"I used to have a Camaro SS, a big red American sports car." Matt smiled a little in fond reminiscence, tucking a stray lock of hair under his goggles. He slowed to a halt, the wistful expression dissolving as his eyes came back into focus. "Where did you park?"

"The same place you left it the first time." Light didn't want to keep asking questions, but he was curious enough to hope Matt would continue. The redhead sighed as if he could read Light's thoughts before turning to head back toward the car.

"I bought the Lotus after mine was totaled because Mello used to say he'd want something more exotic if he ever got a sports car. He was more of a biker."

"You weren't there, were you?" Matt's words made his choice of cars sound like one borne of guilt.

Matt shook his head at Light's guess, trying to smile as he started speaking again. "No. Ryuzaki was, but he doesn't know anything."

"Ryuzaki?" _He was involved in the accident?_

"He doesn't remember it," Matt clarified. "It's lucky enough he didn't have brain damage coming out of that coma. He was the only one who…" Matt shrugged, feigning nonchalance as his words trailed off. He held the cup of tea to his mouth for a moment before fumbling in his vest pocket, pulling out a cigarette and holding it between his teeth as he grabbed for his lighter.

Light looked away from the flame dancing in Matt's trembling hand before the first puff of smoke concealed it, not wanting to embarrass either of them. He busied himself fishing the car keys out of his pocket, wanting something to do with his free hand, much like Matt.

"I'm sorry." Light spoke softly, not knowing what else to say. He felt so awkward. He was sorrier that he asked more than anything else. His eyes glanced at the people around them but their expressions didn't reveal any interest in what he and Matt were discussing.

"It was years ago. Shouldn't matter anymore." The strange note in Matt's voice betrayed the otherwise dismissive words, and his eyes skittered away from Light's.

"Do you want to drive back?" Light tried to bring up something more innocuous as they crossed between buildings on a side street, the car's glitter under the street lamps visible in the distance as they emerged.

"Would you?"

"Sure." Light exhaled a slow breath, watching a wisp of vapor form against the backdrop of the night sky. The night had grown chillier, and he had a cloud to match Matt's as they walked. Having left High Street, they seemed to have left most of the people behind as well, and the only sound was their shoes on the cobblestones or pavement.

Light reached the driver's side door first, unlocking it and slipping inside as Matt circled the vehicle. He dropped the rest of his cigarette and ground it almost viciously under his boot, his expression unreadable when he opened his door.

"Thanks for driving, Light. Did you enjoy it? Driving her around, I mean?" Matt's voice sounded normal in comparison to the look on his face as he changed topics, and Light went along with it, having no desire to make the night any more awkward than he already had.

"I did; it's a great car. I couldn't resist putting the top down and I'm sure I'll have a cold tomorrow to show for it."

"It was worth it though, right?" Matt grinned, regaining a little of his good humor, and Light smiled back, feigning merriment to try to dispel the heavy atmosphere that had settled around them.

"It was." He started the car, looking around for pedestrians before starting the drive back to Wammy House. The tension in the air was too thick, so even though he wanted to speed to try to leave it behind, the suffocating feeling would take all the excitement out of it. There were no more words exchanged; the confined space barely held their breath, let alone left room for words.

In the passenger seat, Matt gripped his tea on one hand, a new cigarette in the other only a few minutes later, and he stared outside the entire time. His head rested against the partially open window, the ventilation making the air breathable but no more suitable for conversation.

In the moonlight, Light could barely see the tear tracks on his face.

* * *

"Matt!" The sharp voice snapped Matt out of a sound sleep. He lifted his head from the pillow and blinked blearily at the yellow and black shape standing with one hand on each side of his open door.

"Mello?" He rubbed at his aching eyes. Without his goggles, he could only fuzzily make out the alarm clock across the room. "What are you doing here? It's too damn early on a weekend."

"I want to borrow your car," Mello crossed the room, acting as if it still belonged to him even though he had moved out a week ago. He claimed to want the car but he was still wearing his riding leathers and they squeaked ever so slightly as he walked.

"I'm not awake yet. Can't it wait an hour?" He groaned but still moved back as Mello perched on the edge of his bed, more than assured of his welcome.

"You don't have to come. I just wanted to borrow it for a while."

"Why?" He put his face back into the pillow, knowing it would annoy Mello but too muzzy to care even if he knew what was coming. "Did you want to go to town or something?" Mello didn't answer, but soon enough something poked him in the ribs. " _Gah!_ Stop that!"

"You're ignoring me." The blond laughed in a token effort to make his accusation more lighthearted.

"Why do you still have your room key?" Matt changed topics, rolling onto his side so he looked like he was paying attention. He didn't really care what Mello was doing with his car as long as he didn't ruin it; agreeing to let him borrow it was just a formality. "Your things are all moved out."

"Do you want me to turn it back in?" The older boy was seriousness incarnate, his face blank as he tensed.

"I don't care." Matt shrugged, finding it hard to be concerned about anything when he was barely awake. "Maybe if you keep the key, I won't get another roommate until I finish school."

"Rank hath its privileges," Mello stated blandly, giving his hair a toss in feigned superiority. "It's nice to have my own room, but the work isn't all it was made out to be."

"I'm sure you'll get used to it. At least you're not still in school." Mello was the first student to graduate the curriculum and not pick a job or university elsewhere, and Matt envied the freedom he had to choose.

"You have a point." Mello looked over at the far wall, his expression hardening even as he smiled. "If nothing else, I'm _older_ than he is. He can't beat me there!" He tried to make the words sound like a joke, but his anger shredded the forced laugh and only exposed the naked hurt underneath.

" _Mello_." Matt reached over immediately and took hold of Mello's arm through the leather jacket, pushing himself into a sitting position with the other arm. "Let it go." Mello's only answer was to bite down on his lip until he nearly drew blood.

It was stupid of Mello to dwell on his perceived shortcomings when he was singularly skilled with people, social aptitude being something that he and Near and especially their role model L lacked. However, it didn't mean anything to Mello when all he saw on the rankings board was 'second best'. The fact that his greatest rival was an asocial slip of an albino two years younger than him was an insult to the very core of his personable, extroverted being.

"Don't ignore me," he hissed when Mello's sulk continued, squeezing tighter until the blond started out of his reverie. He twisted his arm out of Matt's grip, his shoulders slumping as the tension went out of him. Matt sighed inwardly with relief; some days it took much more to get Mello out of one of his funks.

"Do you need anything downtown?" Mello finally asked, the hatred fading from his face as he turned back to Matt.

"Yes, actually." Matt leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms nonchalantly. "You owe me a new GameCube controller after that last one met with an unfortunate _accident_." He nodded his head toward the slight dent in the wall's sheetrock.

"It was broken!" Mello objected, his earlier anger completely forgotten as he turned fully to face him, earnestness painted all over his features. "It was unresponsive as hell!"

"It is now, thanks." He sighed theatrically. "You can't always blame your lack of skill on a bad controller."

"Shut up!" He never saw the attack, but suddenly his head smacked the wall behind him. His next breath was smothered by his own pillow as it pinned him to the bed.

"That's cheap!" He tried to shout but his words were hopelessly muffled. He thrashed a little before going limp, closing his eyes and playing dead.

"Finally," Mello scoffed, pulling the pillow away so Matt could breathe, though he tried to do so shallowly in order to continue his pretense. "I'll just be taking your keys now."

"No chocolate!" Matt called, opening his eyes as Mello leaned over to pick his car keys off the nightstand. "I mean it, and no drinks either." He had only owned the Camaro for a few months. Even if it was only a used car, it was in pristine shape and he wanted to keep it that way.

"Honestly, Matt, who do you like more? Me or the damn car?" The older boy feigned exasperated offense as he started to lean forward to stand up. Matt levered himself up and threw his arms around Mello, pinning his arms to his sides from behind and burrowing into Mello's shoulder blade. Mello froze with surprise and Matt tried not to sneeze at the combined smell of leather and the other boy's cologne, knowing that the action would not only embarrass him but also get his point across.

"Does that answer your question?" He let go of him and flopped back on the bed, finding it amusing to catch Mello off-guard.

"What the hell, Matt." Mello laughed easily enough even as he went about ten shades of red, seemingly forgetting that he had been about to stand up.

"How long do you think you'll be gone?" Matt smirked at his discomfort as he debated whether or not he wanted to go back to sleep. He was awake enough now, but it sounded like Mello didn't _want_ his company versus not caring if Matt came with him. Mello was his best friend, but he knew that the volatile blond needed the space sometimes.

"Not more than an hour. I'll get your baby and a new controller back to you then."

"You'd better. See ya later, Mello." He rolled onto his side, facing the wall and closing his eyes as he pretended to go back to sleep. Mello didn't move for long moments, remaining so still that there were no sounds of either the mattress squeaking or his chain bracelet tinkling against itself.

"Thanks, Matt," he finally said softly, and Matt felt ring-bedecked fingers ruffle his hair in a rare gesture of affection to echo his own. "I'll see you in an hour." Matt smiled a little as he heard Mello's bootheels click across the hardwood floor before his door opened and shut.

* * *

If Matt had known that was the last time he would see Mello alive, he would have insisted on coming along. Better to die with him than continue this travesty of life without him. There was no going back to the way things were before.

There were demons in his head that came out in his nightmares: hellish visions of burning cars, flashing lights, blood-streaked pavement, the shiny glitter of broken glass, and scorched and blackened fingers peeking from underneath a dingy green tarpaulin, the wrist still wearing the remainder of a bracelet melted to slag.

It was no wonder that he had only a sketchy memory of the three days after the funeral. He remembered running away and carrying only an urn and a wallet with cash. He left the cremated remains off Portsmouth Beach rather than interred in a wall somewhere, and the rest of the time vanished in an intoxicated stupor.

There were the unanswered questions that plagued him: things he didn't know because he hadn't been there and the things L had seen and didn't remember. He had called L a liar the day that he finally awoke, ignoring the older man's pathetic state when hooked up to all those machines. Whether it was wishful thinking on his part or the truth made no difference; L never volunteered any more information, and Matt never forgave him.

Worst of all, there was the _absence_. There was a hole cut out of him, out of _all_ of them, and it had never healed. Near went back into hiding with his puzzles, L left Wammy House and traveled for work elsewhere, and Matt lost himself in his games. Wammy and Roger had to tend to other students, ones who grew and graduated and left behind only those who had known Mello best.

The saying "no man is an island" carried no weight with them. They went about their days listlessly, tiny ships adrift in a cold, dark sea, the lights of both fellow ships and civilizations barely a twinkle on the horizon.

Lights…

_Light._

Matt blinked, his eyes and the landscape beyond his goggles barely coming into focus, blurred as they were by tears. The vehicle's motion had slowed as Light negotiated a roundabout, waking him out of his reverie.

He let go of the cigarette that had burned itself out, leaving the window down to dry off his face as he pulled the goggles back. Jamming the heel of his hand into his aching eyes, he tried to wipe the tears away with his sleeves, not bothering to be discreet. Light had probably seen anyway given his studious ignorance of Matt's side of the car.

"Don't tell anyone about this," he ordered, only now starting to feel embarrassed at his display this evening. "They all think I'm fine." Light still wouldn't look at him, which made Matt marginally less self-conscious.

"Are you?" Light glanced over for a moment when he received no response; Matt ignored him, focusing instead on wiping the condensation off the inside of his lenses with a dry spot on his sleeve. "I won't say anything, Matt."

Matt hesitated only a second before continuing to make circular swipes with his shirt.

"I'm getting there. Just didn't think it would take this long." He smiled sheepishly at the dashboard as he put the goggles back atop his head. Now Light would think he was a head-case in addition to being a reclusive gaming nerd. He wasn't the first and probably wouldn't be the last to just wash his hands of Matt and his idiosyncrasies.

Light tapped a finger on the steering wheel for a moment as Matt went back to leaning his head on the window, resigning himself to more uncomfortable silence.

"I'm not a psychiatrist, so don't take this as such." Light stared out the windshield as Matt stopped contemplating yet another cigarette and listened, honestly surprised that Light was still speaking to him. "They say 'time heals all wounds,' but time passing doesn't make anyone better. It's more about being honest with yourself and others and making a choice to change..." The tone of his words went from assured to contemplative as he spoke, and the way the statement trailed off made Matt wonder who exactly was being addressed now.

The silence that followed wasn't tense or oppressive so much as pensive while they entertained private thoughts. It lasted only a few minutes and the iron bars of the fence surrounding Wammy House soon rose out of the dim gloom before them. Light rolled his window down and reached out to enter the passcode to get through the gate.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to preach back there," he said as he glanced at Matt, who had been staring in an unfocused manner at the rearview mirror. Matt met his gaze for a moment before dropping it and taking in the sight of the manor house instead.

"You weren't. It… made sense," Matt replied, shifting out of a vague discomfort. Light cut the engine and held out the keys to him, waiting for him to move. The car's enclosed space meant that Light was nearly elbow to elbow with him, and the proximity after a conversation that wasn't about meaningless crap unnerved him more out of habit than anything else. He scooped the keys out of Light's palm and stepped out the door, rubbing his arms through his sleeves at the chill in the air.

After Light exited, he slipped the cover back over the Lotus's curves, hiding Mello's second favorite color and his choice of cars from the world again. The motion seemed to end whatever conversation had been left unfinished.

While they ascended the steps to the front entrance then took the stairs up to their rooms, there were no more words said even if a fragile understanding had been reached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was great to finally write Mello; he's so different from everyone else. I just realized that for someone formerly intimidated by dialogue, there's a lot of chatter in this chapter.


	29. Reminder

The next morning came too soon.

Light awoke to the soothing patter of rain falling, which only made him want to turn back over and go to sleep. His late night downtown with Matt had left him only a few hours before his usual wake-up time, which he had beaten by only 5 minutes. He stared at the clock, wishing for a moment that it was in pieces, before rolling out of bed and getting into the shower. No sense trying to sleep for only a few more minutes.

His head was clearer by the time he made it downstairs, but he still felt the niggling desire for caffeine as he walked into the kitchen. The sound of coughing made him look up in surprise.

Near was in his usual place in the breakfast nook, his eyes on a cryptogram from the newspaper, pencil in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. The cook stood in one corner of the massive kitchen, chopping up vegetables with a steady rhythm. That alone wasn't abnormal, but this morning Matt sat at the island, nursing a cup of something steaming that smelled like both lemons and cinnamon.

Matt was never awake this early. He looked up at Light as he walked in and gave him a weak smile before subsiding into coughs again.

"Morning," Light said, giving him a half-smile in return. "You're up early."

"Can't sleep like this," Matt rasped, his voice hoarse. He took a long swallow of the tea and grimaced. "I hate honey."

"It's better for your throat," the cook added over her shoulder as she scooped a multi-colored pile of bell peppers into a bowl. Matt snorted and mimicked holding his nose while taking another sip.

"Did you catch a cold last night?" Light asked as he collected a roll from the bread basket and eggs from the stove before getting his ever-present morning coffee with cream. He took a seat on the other side of the island rather than at the table but Near still passed him the rest of the newspaper while he continued working on all the puzzles.

"No, too many cigarettes, that's all." Matt wheezed slightly as he chuckled. He edged the science and technology section out of the pile of papers while Light buttered his bread. "Can't complain when I did it to myself."

"That's one way to look at it." Light smiled as he spread some of the pages out before him since the cook wasn't working at the island this morning. Using the speed-reading techniques he had learned yesterday during Ryuzaki's training, he tried to read them all in under a minute, drawing one finger down each article as he sipped his coffee.

The rhythmic chop-chop of the cook's knife and the soft scratch of Near's pencil against paper were the only sounds for some time, all of them deep in individual pursuits. Every now and then the crisp rasp of pages turning and the odd gurgle from the coffeepot broke the near-silence, but there was an odd tranquility in this, a comfortable quiet of people working in each other's presence.

* * *

L stood in the doorway for a few moments, absorbing the sight. There were so many incongruities visible that he was actually surprised, his actual task forgotten as he paused outside the kitchen.

Light hadn't been his customary 10 minutes early in arriving at his room, so he had come down for another pot of coffee in the meantime. He would have passed Light on the way, but he needn't have worried about missing the younger man. Instead, he found Light still in the kitchen, and to his astonishment, Matt was sitting on the other side of the island, absorbed in a video game while Near watched over Light's shoulder.

"I can see the appeal in it," Light was saying as he scribbled on a piece of the newspaper. He had already eaten, an empty plate and cup next to his elbow, which was a relief since he might stop looking so wasted and thin in the future. However, he wasn't paying any attention to his phone and the time. "Do you ever time yourself doing these?"

"They are different every day. Given the varying difficulties, the results would mean little." To L's surprise, it was Near who responded to Light's comment _and_ he was using something other than his typical whisper-soft voice. The fact that he was seated at the island and not in the corner of the breakfast nook as far as he could get from the door was significant as well.

"This will time you while you work." Matt gestured with his DS without taking his eyes off the screen. "They have a game with cryptograms like that, but you have a point about the difficulty levels."

"Done," Light said, pushing the paper away. Near glanced at Light's solution and nodded. "Want to try it, Matt?"

"With a pencil?" Matt lowered his DS to give the paper a dirty look. "Do you know how long it's been since I _wrote_ anything?"

"Writing is bound to become a lost art these days," Near responded in a deadpan, earning a smile from Light as he erased his solution. Even Matt chuckled under his breath.

L raised his eyebrows. When was the last time he had heard Near speak in anything resembling sarcasm? On top of that, when had Matt last joined anyone for breakfast?

When had Light _befriended_ these two?

For a moment, it wasn't Light he saw there, seated between two of his so-called heirs. Someone else was grinning, laughing at something Matt said while trying to beat Near at his own games to prove his worth. It was almost like watching brothers interact, children who had grown up together.

For a moment, he was years younger, unburdened by the guilt of knowing his mere existence would cause senseless deaths. He might have been content back then…

But the vision spoiled, vinegar curdling milk as Mello's voice came unbidden to the back of his mind.

_"Yes, sometimes I **do** wish you would just die."_

His last words, not long before the back of the lorry sheared off-

_Snap._

L let go of the door frame and stepped back, his mind going utterly blank when he realized he'd broken one of his already-ragged fingernails. The motion caught Light's eye and he looked up, that carefree, unguarded smile unlike any he had given L still on his face. It vanished between one blink and the next.

"Am I late?" Light asked immediately, checking his watch. Near glanced up from the newspaper with a blank expression and even Matt turned his way for a moment.

"'Morning," Matt said in a dry voice, looking back at his game.

"I'm just getting more coffee." L said in response to Light's inquiry as he walked into the kitchen. He had the pot in his hand, after all. He was not spying on Light, no matter what it might have looked like with him in the doorway.


	30. Reclamation

L watched as Light took his plate and mug to the sink before moving. He hadn't insisted that Light get up in order to start their training, but Light seemed to take L's appearance as a signal to stop amusing himself. Near was gathering the newspaper back together, seemingly absorbed in the task, and Matt said nothing more, only filling the sudden quiet with the soft music from his DSi.

Near retreated to his usual seat at the breakfast nook while L set his carafe beside the coffee pot. As he pulled the items he needed from the cupboard, he contemplated briefly what he had inadvertently done, forcing Near and Matt back into their shells by taking away someone who had apparently brought them back together.

He might have felt cruel for doing so, but they were both adults. It was high time that Mello's death stopped leaving such holes in them all. He had died years ago, and it wasn't as if Near and Matt had been at fault. No, it was entirely his burden to bear, much like Light had been.

Ridiculous. This kind of thought process made him sound like a martyr when he was nothing of the sort. Light slipped out of the kitchen, likely to return to his room and get the book L had given him yesterday. If the speed reading techniques had stuck, he should be finished with the book already or at least familiar enough with it to detail the contents for L.

He wondered if Light had forgotten that it was the end of the week. They did have France to visit today, after all. It might be unreasonable to expect Light to be fluent enough in French to pass an exam, but he was confident in Light's latent abilities. He just needed to be pushed in order to excel. In the future, it should hardly be necessary. L would make certain of that.

His instincts were never wrong, and he knew Light would not disappoint him.

* * *

Light tried to suppress a smirk as he pulled the manual off the top of his dresser. He had completely forgotten about this task last night. _Psychology Today_ had seemed like lighter reading in comparison, and he had fully intended to go back to this book after spending some time in the solarium. Instead, he had gone joy-riding and stayed out way too late with Matt.

Oops.

How long might he have until Ryuzaki came looking for him? Resolving himself to at least attempt his assignment, he sat on his bed and flipped the book open. His eyes scanned the table of contents before flipping rapidly through each chapter in order to get a general idea of what the book was about in as little time as possible. Speed reading indeed…

As he assimilated the ponderous psychological analyses of various criminals and the manners in which they were convicted, he was amused that he had never once worked this hard in school. Back then his work had actually counted for something, like his all-important grade point average. Now he was doing this merely to save face in front of a near-stranger who had given him no clear objectives for this training, only a vague job description.

At least it beat the alternatives. Anything was better than staring dazedly at his computer screen while compiling everyone else's deductions about a case without ever making his own observations. The irritating errors and inconsistencies that he had seen at first were soon not even worth the effort of pointing them out.

In the end, his supposed "dream job" hadn't even been enough to get him out of bed every day. He had dreaded it, in fact.

Whatever Ryuzaki's absurd demands were, his life now was far better than that had been, and it had only been a week. Things could only get better as he adjusted to his workload.

Instead of the expected knock, his phone rang about 10 minutes later, jarring him out of his lightning-fast reading. It took a second to change gears and answer the phone, but he needn't have bothered.

"Did Light-kun go back to sleep?" was Ryuzaki's query almost immediately after he pressed the Talk button.

So it was going to be one of those days, was it? The use of his _pet name_ never heralded anything good.

"No, but that book you gave me almost did the trick. Are you in your suite?" He snapped the book closed and stood up, stretching out the kinks in his neck as he did so. Sleeping so little last night had invited back the numerous aches and pains from his prolonged insomnia. L's choice of reading material only compounded the problem rather than distracting him.

"I am. Bring a coat so we can leave as soon as training is complete. You have an appointment in town."

The line went dead before he could open his mouth to ask for any more details. No surprise, really. He pulled a rain jacket that wouldn't clash with his shirt out of the closet since he could still hear the odd splatter of rain against his window. Gathering both his actual wallet and the one containing his fake ID and new bank cards, he tucked the book under his arm and headed off to see what training today would entail.

* * *

_This is an exercise in trust._

As L led Light out of his suite a mere hour later, he ran the words through his head a few times, trying to convince himself that they weren't lies.

L had never enjoyed driving since his car's luxuries were best enjoyed from the back seat, but he would rather sit behind the wheel than ride with any one other than Wammy. However, because Light was taking his driver's test that afternoon in France, he needed a car he could actually drive. L would happily forgo sugar the rest of the month before letting Light use his Rolls Royce for the test…

Or drive it anywhere, for that matter.

In the end, Light had to take them because it was necessary, _not_ because L trusted him.

His logical mind knew that he had to trust Light to do a lot of things if he was going to become Watari, but his ill-acknowledged human side made knowing it and practicing it two completely different things. After all, Light didn't even know his real name yet, much less his reasons for not trusting any one other than Wammy in the driver's seat.

Today would be one more stepping stone in the training program, except today it was more L's test than Light's. He would pass, of course, but he wished it wasn't necessary. At least Light's Mercedes was nothing like the ill-fated Camaro even if Light seemed to share Mello's interest in inane things like horsepower and speed.

Light was not Mello, was nothing like Mello, and would _never_ be him either.

As if to mock him, his mind's eye supplied the memory of Near, Matt, and Light seated around the island in the kitchen this morning, involved in some private amusement. It was a scene he'd witnessed many times before, just not with the Japanese young man.

It was, however, always seen and never experienced.

L had killed too many people for any sort of intimacy to be safe. That was why he had to keep everyone, especially Light, at arm's length. He needed to interest Light in work and fully utilize his genius mind even if he never wanted to be Light's friend.

_Ever._

He couldn't justify the moment of melancholy that he felt just then, but he could crush it and sweep it back into the compartment of his brain where it belonged before wasting any more time on it.

* * *

Hours later, after assuring Ryuzaki that "town" and "a town in France" were two completely different things, Light found himself sitting at a quaint café on France's northern coast. The sky was leaden with clouds and the sun had only peeped through in momentary golden glimpses all day. Wind whipped off the faraway whitecaps in damp and chilly salt breezes, but he was steadily growing accustomed to this jarring contrast to Japan's climate.

In spite of the weather, he enjoyed the café knowing that training was done for the day. He officially, successfully if he didn't say so himself, had come to the end of the first week at his new job.

To his credit, he had neither made a run for the airport nor thought seriously about doing Ryuzaki violence for his often-irritating behavior. It was one of those rare days when he had no complaints about Ryuzaki's abrasive personality after his brief patronizing inquiry on the phone.

He had started the day anticipating a ride full of awkward silences since being in a confined space with the other man had never failed to be unnerving. However, Ryuzaki had surprised Light by avoiding all the fake pleasantries and pussyfooting around by quizzing him on everything that he had taught Light that week. It had taken the entire drive from Winchester to the ferry, and they had even covered new topics discreetly on the boat itself. Light had hunched slightly with his hood up against the occasional spat of rain during their discussion, but Ryuzaki had leaned both arms on the high rail while the water made his hair less wild. Maybe Ryuzaki liked the rain.

When the time had come for the driving test that he had nearly forgotten about during his busy week, he had found it was not as difficult as he had imagined. Ryuzaki had told him that England's test was notoriously hard to pass but a French license was valid in England. He had pulled some strings to get both parts done in one day on short notice, and Light's working knowledge of French and a remarkably cool head while being harangued constantly by his tester had enabled him to pass.

After that, Ryuzaki had declared it long past time to have lunch and steered them toward this café. L had never once looked at the menu so Light had the impression this was not his first visit. While Light filled in the holes in his French vocabulary by reading over the entire menu, Ryuzaki decimated the sugar container cube by cube, eating every third and plinking the others into his coffee.

Quelling the sudden onset of nausea, he gave the waitress his order and sipped his own drink. He needed to reassure himself that it wasn't growing sweeter through proximity to L's slushy concoction. It retained its faint bitterness, so at least Ryuzaki's hand hadn't slipped and ruined his black tea.

While he waited for their food and dessert to arrive, he stared across the gray ocean's dreary landscape and felt strangely satisfied. The feeling was so foreign that he had not known the word for it until he felt a tiny, inaudible sigh escape him. For once, he felt peaceful. He wasn't plagued by a numbing hopelessness about the future. In contrast, his mind felt less cobwebby and he was riding the high from succeeding at a task that demanded knowledge he thought he had forgotten. It was a great feeling.

It had been a long week, but he had passed all of Ryuzaki's little tests and kept up with most of the training. There was still plenty of room for improvement since _he_ expected more from himself, never mind Ryuzaki's expectations, but that didn't diminish his feeling of having succeeded.


	31. Progress

"What do _you_ do on the weekends?"

The question surprised them both, not just Ryuzaki. The older man's nearly-black eyes flickered from side to side so quickly that Light could have blinked and missed it. He looked as if he was checking the proximity of the café's other guests.

"Why do you ask?"

Light had no answer for him. He didn't know himself what made the question slip out as he sat there wiping his fingertips on his napkin. The silence hadn't been uncomfortable therefore he really didn't know what or why he was asking.

He settled for a slight shrug in response.

"It's my first real weekend and I'm not sure what to do with it."

Ryuzaki looked perplexed, which was obviously an affected expression. The man could hide his emotions as easily as Light used to be able to do and he must want Light to think that he was asking a stupid question.

"I work or travel." His face was blank, completely unwilling to offer any more personal information.

"Ah." Light picked up his tea, at a loss as to what to say now. He hadn't really expected a response, much less one that left little to no room to continue the conversation.

Conversation with the other man was impossible when there were no established goals. Time to change tactics…

"Do you think there's anything in Winchester I should see? Some historical or scientific landmarks that might benefit my training?"

"Light-kun, take the weekends off. Do what you want." Ryuzaki smiled very faintly as he picked up his own coffee. As long as Ryuzaki wasn't talking to him in the third person, he found that the nickname didn't annoy him as much. "These are more Mr. Wammy's orders than mine."

"Why does _he_ think I need the break?" It didn't bother him as it should have to have his schedule dictated by someone else. How could anyone get angry with Wammy? The man was like the grandfather Light had never known.

Having _Ryuzaki_ tell him what to do, on the other hand…

"Because I forget that other people do not share my temperament. He thinks you would benefit from having time to yourself."

"What do you mean, your 'temperament'?" Light was surprised that Ryuzaki was answering his questions since he seemed so private, but he might as well take advantage of the opportunity to learn something about his employer.

Ryuzaki shifted slightly and looked off into the distance, and Light had the impression that he would no longer be forthcoming about his answers. He looked uncomfortable, but he doubted anyone other than him would have noticed. He had spent too much time in the man's company learning to watch for things such as that to miss it.

"I don't take time off; it's pointless. Are you finished?" Sure enough, the blank expression that Ryuzaki most often wore was the one that looked back at Light. Deciding to see what would happen if he didn't go along with Ryuzaki's unspoken order, he set his cup down and sat back, looking across the slate gray ocean to the fuzzy horizon where it met the equally gray sky.

"Not quite. I'm enjoying the scenery."

_One second, two…_

"Does Light-kun intend to trap me here?"

Light should have expected that but he still felt his mouth twist at Ryuzaki's condescending form of address. However, as he turned back to his strange companion, a look of amusement he had never expected vanished from Ryuzaki's face.

Well, that was a surprise.

"No." Light paused, feeling inexplicably saucy. "I just wanted to push your buttons."

"Shall we go back to 12-hour days next week?" Ryuzaki hadn't wasted a second issuing that threat. He didn't seem to find Light amusing now, but that could be as much an act as anything else.

Would their conversations always turn antagonistic? Or was that just how they communicated if work was not involved?

"No, that's not necessary. Just let me finish this." He tipped back the rest of his tea, which had gone cold and unappealing in the chilly air. He frowned at the taste as he stood while Ryuzaki slurped the rest of his coffee. He smiled at the cup as he set it down and Light felt his stomach do cartwheels. Disgusting.

He knew better than to ask if Ryuzaki expected him to pay, and the older man pulled a small wad of Euros out of one pocket, leaving an appropriate amount on the table. He probably preferred the relative anonymity of cash versus even a fake credit card.

While contemplating the contents of his own wallet, Light decided then and there never to mention that Roger and Matt had made him a driver's license without Ryuzaki knowing. He would ask Matt to take his fake license out of the system that evening. Something in him felt guilty for slighting Ryuzaki, though certainly the man had done nothing to warrant that kind of consideration.

Well, other than offering him work that had saved his life.

Why did this have to be so complicated?

The drive back was mostly what Light expected: Ryuzaki looked out the window much of the time or pushed buttons on his phone. Light didn't bother asking what Ryuzaki was doing since he was unlikely to get a straight answer anymore. It was too much to expect that the whole day would go well.

He ordered a plain coffee on the ferry, still unable to completely break with his drug of choice and stared out across the water. Ryuzaki had stayed in the car while talking on the phone in one of the many _many_ languages that Light didn't know.

Yet.

He had to change that. As if a veil had been lifted from his eyes, Light realized that he could be doing a thousand times better than he was doing now. Yes, he had succeeded in one test today and surpassed some of Ryuzaki's expectations for the week, but he wanted to do more.

He needed to speak more languages than the children he had seen in the halls. Matt's hacking abilities and Near's head for deciphering patterns would come in handy in the future. It would be highly beneficial to do complicated math like Ryuzaki did off the top of his head.

Most of all, he wanted **_L_** 's deductive genius.

 ** _L_** had read him time and time again, and Light _knew_ what his own acting abilities had been in the past. It was frustrating to have his intentions declared aloud as if they were written across his face when even he didn't know what he was thinking or what he wanted.

He wanted what L had. Perhaps then he could be on the same level as him and stop feeling so damn _inferior_.

* * *

Something had changed in Light during the ride on the ferry. L noticed as soon as Light re-entered the vehicle; the changes were obvious to someone with his observation skills. The younger man's gaze was unusually sharp and there was a look of determination about his mouth.

As Light took them off the boat and swiftly down the motorway back to Winchester, L glanced surreptitiously out of the corner of his eyes, smiling inwardly at what he saw. Light was focused and angry, that much was clear.

Given that he had done well that day and even surprised L with the speed at which he absorbed most of the training, he must be dissatisfied with his own performance. Could he already be pushing himself to do better?

L did smile now since Light was negotiating busy traffic and he would never catch the expression. L bit down on his thumbnail with ill-disguised glee and watched Light, seeing the chocolate-colored eyes flickering from mirror to mirror and across the road, smoothly maneuvering the vehicle for someone who had not driven for most of his life. Light also didn't ask for directions after leaving the ferry or look at all unsure about where he was going, which was another point in his favor.

Could it be so simple? Had Light 'fixed' himself already?

Every logical part of his brain screamed that this was impossible; it was far too soon. One did not shake off years of depression and a death wish, however tenuous, in a mere week. It was the total change in environment and removal from the circumstances that had only compounded Light's problems. It was giving Light a task better suited to someone with his intelligence and skills.

It was _not_ a magic cure. L would be a fool to think Light was better.

There was a relapse coming if he knew anything about psychology and mental illness. However, if he continued to encourage Light's professional interests and Light continued on this upward path, he would get better. It might take a few months but it wouldn't take the entire year.

He had given Light the one-year time frame for training but he had no intention of letting Light go after that. Light had to wonder by now what L had in store for him; however he hadn't asked again what the plan was. Instead, he was content to have someone else plan out his future since he had grown unaccustomed to thinking of the years he had ahead of him.

L had made plans for Light, ones in which Light would excel. The year was only necessary to get Light to see what he was capable of doing so L could best utilize him. He couldn't make it obvious what he was doing and had to guide Light into realizing his potential by himself.

After all, Light had been ready to throw his life away. How could he argue with someone who could help him turn it around?

His actions now weren't penance but Mello's parting shot made it seem that way as it suddenly rang in his ears, obliterating his positive mood. His smile faded as he pulled his thumb away from his teeth.

 _Why was Mello always there?_ He hadn't thought of the young man this much in years and he didn't need his voice always whispering in his ears like some ghost from the past.

L didn't have demons, didn't have guilt. He was a _machine_ , and machines didn't have feelings…

"Something wrong?" Light's calm voice broke his reverie, and the cramping in his fingers let him know that he was very near to tearing holes into Light's leather seats. There was nothing amiss with his expression, however, and he wondered why Light was asking.

He glanced over at Light as he cautiously relaxed his grip, each knuckle unbending joint by joint to keep Light from noticing. However, he needn't have bothered since Light wasn't even looking at him. Instead he was waiting his turn to enter a roundabout. What had he seen?

"Nothing's wrong, Light-kun." His answer sounded as flat as it always did.

"Does my driving scare you? You were smiling but now you look… angry."

L blinked in surprise. Incredible. He hadn't thought Light would see or notice since he was preoccupied with driving, but Light's pause made it clear that 'angry' was not the term he wanted to use.

Light had seen everything, from his white-knuckled grip on the seat to his stupid grin. He would have to be more careful after this.

"I'm thinking about work."

"Should have known. Sorry for asking." Light smiled a little bit, a rueful tilt to his mouth. He knew L was lying! Light was too fast a learner. He wanted Light to be a great profiler and read people as easily as he himself did, but he didn't want Light to read _him_.

This training was turning out to be a two-edged sword, a weapon that cut him even as he tried to use it.

Looking out the window, he tried engineer a distraction. He did what Wammy would expect him to do and considered using positive reinforcement to say all the meaningless words that he had never required during his education. Light had been prideful and he would probably appreciate someone playing to his ego, however greatly it had been damaged over the last year.

"You did very well this week, Light-kun. You surprised me." L swallowed imperceptibly at the bitter taste the compliment left in his mouth. He didn't like these surprises when they made him look a fool.

He didn't have a way with words, but even he knew that his attempt at sycophantic chicanery sounded pathetic, unintelligent for someone of his caliber to say. Stealing a glance at Light, he waited for the inevitable amusement or the bubble of uncomfortable laughter.

Light stared out the windshield with an indecipherable look on his face.

"…Thanks." His eyes met L's momentarily before they went back to the road. "I hope to do better in the future."

"I'm certain you will." Where had that come from? Those words implied hope, expectation. They were only hollow, insincere sounds.

The tension in the vehicle had increased despite the fact that neither of them was annoyed with the other. L was merely very annoyed with himself.

He pulled out his phone and starting composing notes to himself about one of the cases on which he was working as well as what to train Light on in the coming week. They weren't necessary but they made him look busy and he didn't want to talk anymore.

Light followed his lead and went back to staying focused on the road. After enough time had passed to let some of the tension bleed away, L put his phone back in one pocket and looked out the window.

The inevitable rain started falling and the precipitation cast everything in the distance into a dismal, featureless gray yet again. With the light fading and the rain's soft pattering on the metal roof combined with the powerful engine's deep rumble, he felt himself growing tired. It had been a few days since the last time he'd slept in his bed and he hadn't had his usual amounts of caffeine that day given their distractions.

He thought little of leaning his forehead against the window and exhaling, watching the small cloud of condensation form on the glass. He knew that his mini-bar wasn't in this vehicle, neither was his laptop, but he found his eyes falling closed for a moment as they so often did in his own car. Something about the vehicle's motion was soothing.

He shifted his head and leaned against the headrest, eyes going out of focus as he breathed in deeply, his muscles starting to relax while he exhaled. He could feel the vehicle slowing or accelerating gradually, making easy turns and moving like a dream. Noisy American muscle cars were really no match for stylized European models…

Eyes barely half-open, he let his thoughts drift as he rode. It wasn't until he felt the vehicle slow to a stop that he opened his eyes enough to register where they were.

Horror seized him when he realized that he was in the passenger seat in the front and it was _not_ Wammy that was driving. It was Light who was leaning slightly out the window into the misting rain, entering the code to let them through the gates in front of Wammy House.

 ** _Light_** was driving, and he'd let himself get comfortable enough to _relax?!_

He made himself sit still, his roiling emotions not even a flicker in his expression. Light was no match for him as far as this kind of acting.

L couldn't believe he had been foolish enough to trust Light to this extent. He hadn't lived as long as he had by putting that much faith in one person so quickly. It should take years to breed this kind of familiarity!

He knew nothing showed in his expression as Light parked the car, but the younger man still looked over apologetically at him.

"Sorry. I meant to ask if you needed anything in town but you were asleep." He sounded concerned, as if he was worried that he had made a mistake.

L almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Light was the one apologizing for not waking him? He wasn't the one making mistakes left and right; L clearly had by dropping his guard so thoroughly around someone he didn't even trust with his name yet. Light had seen things he hadn't intended him to see, and what had he been thinking, allowing himself to be found _defenseless_ by the younger man?

World's greatest detective? Ha! Greater men throughout history had died through lesser acts of stupidity.

"It's alright, Light-kun." To his credit, there was no indication of his inner turmoil in his voice. "I'll see you Monday; enjoy your weekend." With that, he unbuckled his seatbelt and slipped out of the car, heading out of the garage before Light could even say anything in return.

Maybe there was somewhere he could fly for the weekend just to avoid Wammy House altogether.

He was getting sloppy, and being sloppy killed people.


	32. Competition

Ryuzaki was practically running away from him as his wraith-like form slipped out of the building. As Light watched him go, he thought that he must have terrified Ryuzaki for him to make such a hasty departure.

Well, either that or he had left his iron plugged in.

Wondering when he'd become such a joker, Light pulled the keys out of the ignition and just sat there for a moment, relishing the smoky sweet smell of new leather. The rain drumming on the garage's roof was only a soft drone in his ears, and in the relative peace he found himself wanting to do the same as Ryuzaki and just close his eyes for a while. It wasn't as if he had caught up on years' worth of lost sleep yet…

_No!_

Light sat up and shook his hair back, trying to get his blood moving again. He had work to do, and there was no time to lose.

Matt was heading into the kitchen when Light entered Wammy House, and the redhead paused to wave hello.

"Long day, I take it?" Matt paused his ever-present game and dumped the system into one pocket.

"Quite." Light quelled the urge to yawn and nearly cracked his jaw with the effort. He followed Matt into the kitchen, intending to only get some water since he was trying to avoid so much coffee.

A dull boom coming from down the hall made Light pause as he filled a glass with water. It was followed by childish laughter and exclamations too faint for Light to make out.

"What was that?" Light was so accustomed to the almost oppressive quiet of Wammy House that this much noise at night seemed strange.

"Movie night." Matt answered as he pulled a few snacks from the cupboard. "They do it every Friday in the solarium, sometimes on Saturday too. You must have gotten here too late to see it last week."

"I wasn't awake enough to see much of anything last Friday."

"I guess not. Right now it's the younger kids' turn, but after they go to bed either the teens or we old folk pick the movie."

" _Old_ folk?" Light chuckled. If Matt was a day over 21, he'd be shocked.

"You forget that Near and I are old men compared to the others. Every other student leaves after hitting majority so we get lumped in with Mr. Wammy, Roger, and the other staff." Matt poured pretzels, nuts, and other items into a bowl while he talked before spritzing them with oil and adding spices. He shook a bottle of dark liquid onto it as well.

"I see." Light watched Matt with interest. Somehow it seemed incongruous for him to be making things in the kitchen. "So what's on the schedule for tonight?"

"A sci-fi from France that Roger picked out. I'm going after the little kids clear out."

"You speak French too?" Light sipped his water and tried to decide if he wanted anything out of the refrigerator. Matt shook his head, making his fiery hair stick up around his goggles.

"I don't speak it but I can get the gist of it. They put on subtitles since we watch things from all over the world and there are only a few real linguiphiles here." Matt stirred his concoction around and tasted a few pieces before nodding to himself.

Light smiled. The timing was too perfect. He could start improving one aspect of his performance already.

"I know you said languages weren't 'your thing', but do you speak anything else?" He doubted Matt only knew English given his surroundings, and maybe there was something he could teach Light as well.

"Russian, some German, and a little Ukrainian." Matt paused in the middle of putting his supplies away. The odd lack of movement made Light look over at him. Matt slowly let go of the box he had been holding and put his hands back on the counter before shooting a quick glance at Light.

"Mello made me learn." Matt continued, smiling sheepishly and averting his eyes again. He picked up the bowl he had been preparing and walked toward the kitchen's entrance. "The kids should be done in the next 10 or 15 minutes if you want to join us."

"I'll be there." Light was only slightly surprised to hear Mello's name; it seemed that he had become a safer topic of conversation after last night.

"No problem. If there's something you want to watch in the future, tell Mr. Wammy. He does the schedule. See ya."

Matt vanished around the corner and left Light alone in the mammoth kitchen. The typical semi-darkness that pervaded the house after nightfall made him reluctant to linger there when things were going on elsewhere.

He went back to his room to change his shirt since the one he had been wearing smelled damp from the rain earlier. After taking his time putting his things away and slipping on different shoes, he locked his door and headed for the staircase.

He could hear voices chattering as he walked down the steps and decided that the children must have finished. They were drifting out of the solarium as he approached, and he edged closer to the wall to keep his distance. Wammy himself seemed to be herding them toward their rooms and he paused just long enough to greet Light before continuing along. It only made the man look more like a grandfather for him to be surrounded by children.

After the younger ones cleared out of the dim solarium, he slipped inside. The room looked completely different with more people in it and the large screen blocking most of the windows. Matt was already there, goggles over his eyes and eyes on a game in his lap where he was seated near the back. There were a few other teenagers scattered around the room's chairs and sofas, conversing with each other in low tones. Light was pleased that they were nothing like his classmates in Japan who gossiped in obnoxious voices and generally made nuisances of themselves.

Roger was in the recessed area in the back of the room, absorbed in his task of setting up the next movie on the projector. There were bottles of soda and juice over ice next to him. When Light drifted closer to investigate, Roger looked up and smiled genuinely.

"Light, come get something to drink. Good to see you here."

"Thanks. Matt said we were watching something French?" He pulled a bottle of acai juice out of the ice and wiped some of the condensation off on a napkin.

" _Dante 01_ is its name. Afterward the rest of them are going to see _Night Watch_ , but I'll be skipping that one. Too gory for me."

"What's that one about?" Light tasted the juice and found its bittersweet tang refreshing.

"Vampires and werewolves, I think. It's Russian." Roger went back to adjusting settings on the computer after that, and Light scanned the room in search of somewhere isolated to sit. He picked a chair that was still sitting in a relatively open space so he wouldn't be too close to anyone else.

As he moved the cushions around to make himself comfortable, he contemplated using movies to learn other languages on a regular basis. They would probably be more interesting than just reading books on the subject.

A few minutes after the opening sequence played in crystal clarity on the big screen, he saw a ghost drift into the room out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head since he was seated near the back, he raised a hand slightly when he realized it was Near. The younger man's clothing made him almost luminous in the darkness. Near smiled faintly in reply and pulled something from the ice box, his every movement silent as he padded across the plush carpet to his own seat. It appeared that Near's reluctance to be 'in public' didn't apply to movie nights.

Forty-five minutes into the French movie, Light found himself using it just for language practice. The pacing was much different from the few Japanese movies that he had seen and it was, quite frankly, boring him even if the philosophical questions raised were interesting. Matt echoed his sentiment in the break between the two movies when he offered Light the snack he had made earlier, claiming that he had made too much.

"What is this?" Light asked as he sampled the mixture. It was salty, spicy, and sour all at once but managed to be savory rather than unpleasant.

"Worcestershire sauce, salt, garlic, and whatever else I feel like. It tastes different every time." Matt pulled his goggles off and finger-combed his hair back into place.

"It's good." Light replied before he put some of it into a napkin and let Matt reclaim the bowl. "Are you staying for _Night Watch_ too?"

"Of course. Do you have a strong stomach?" Matt laughed at the look Light must have on his face. "Just a warning; you might need one. Here." The redhead set his bowl on the stand between Light's seat and the next closest chair before falling backwards over the arm into his customary position. "In case you're hungry later."

 _Night Watch_ proved far from boring even if Light didn't pick up nearly enough Russian from watching it. He was too distracted by the gruesome violence and special effects and he lost all interest in eating not long after seeing a pair of scissors punch through someone's hand. It gave him the creeps.

After that movie ended, it was late enough that most people were clearing out to go to sleep. Near stretched and looked wide awake given his odd schedule so Light headed over to his seat after bidding Matt good night. Near wasn't wearing his doll-like sclera lenses so Light found it less eerie to look into his eyes in the room's semi-darkness.

"Near, I need your help with something." It made no sense beating around the bush with any of the Wammy House residents so Light was better off being straightforward. At Near's quizzical yet curious look, he continued. "I'm going to ask Matt to use Russian with me for a while. Can I ask you to teach me something else?"

"Which language family do you want first? Hellenic, Romance, Germanic, or Semitic?" Near looked perfectly serious but Light just stared at him for a moment.

"Which are you most fluent in?" He couldn't think of anything more intelligent to ask; he was trying to sort out how many languages were in each family.

"Romance and Germanic. You already speak French, do you not?"

Light nodded numbly in response, hopelessly outclassed linguistically by someone younger than him. To think, at one point in time, he had thought himself smart!

"We can use the Romance languages first since so many words sound similar." Near cocked his head, smiling slightly at him. "If you are trying to compete with Ryuzaki, I can show you the materials in the library that I used."

"Would you?" Light almost grinned, not at all upset to be found out when Near made it sound like a contest. He used to thrive on the competitiveness back in school, after all.

"Yes. Come with me." Near climbed out of his chair and led Light through both Wammy's private study and the library most often used by the students. Light had 5 books in his hands before long, and Near started to use Spanish just to show how similar many of the words sounded.

Given the hour, it wasn't long before it became impossible to understand Near. Light called it a night when he could no longer string two words together without giving himself a headache.

"You learn quickly, Light." Near told him, switching back to Japanese. "You are doing the right thing, conversing in it. Immersion is much more effective than just reading a book."

"Is that how you learned so many?" Light asked as he paused at the foot of the stairs.

"Yes. I also watched a lot of news. If you find me for breakfast, we can do Italian."

"Breakfast it is. Good night." Light turned before he could yawn and headed up the steps with weary enthusiasm. His mind was excited about the prospect of utilizing the whole weekend to improve while his body just begged to go to sleep.

That night, as Light drifted off, he found himself eager to wake up and start his own training. He would have a thing or two to show Ryuzaki on Monday…

* * *

As the phone rang softly in his ear, Light contemplated what in the world he wanted to say.

He hadn't forgotten that he had promised to call his family after getting to England; he had simply put it off this long because he didn't _want_ to do it. An email would have been easier but his mother would never forgive him for such an impersonal communiqué. Part of him hoped that there would be no answer and he could just leave a message on their answering machine before going back to studying.

When he heard the click as someone picked up, he winced.

"Hello?" It was Sayu, her voice unsure since Ryuzaki had assured him that his number was blocked when he first gave Light the phone.

"Hi, Sayu. It's Li-"

" _Onii-chan!_ How are you?! Mom's been worried sick!" Sayu's voice was both indignant and relieved.

"I'm fine, sorry it took so long to call. I've been really busy."

"Where are you? Can you say?"

"No, but—"

"Mom's going to be so angry she missed your call!"

"She's not there?" Inwardly, Light sighed at his good fortune. It was comfortable to go back to speaking Japanese since he had been using English or French all week, but the strange conversation made it hard to appreciate it.

"No, she's out for the day with Dad. I'll pass along everything."

"Thanks. You can tell them I'm busy with work and that it's going very well."

"You _sound_ good, Light." Sayu's voice was relieved.

"I'm- I feel better. About everything." He felt so awkward right now. He didn't discuss his feelings with anyone but it made sense that his family would be concerned about little else given his frightening confession.

"That's good to hear. You said you'd be gone a year?"

"Supposedly. My employer and I still need to talk about that."

"Do you have friends over there?"

Light felt himself wince further inwardly at being interrogated about such personal things.

"You might call them that." It was too soon to call any of them friends even if he could probably count Matt and Near as acquaintances now. He talked to them when they were in the room with him, at least, even if he didn't seek them out yet.

"That's great, Light. You didn't really hang out with your classmates much." Sayu paused for a moment. "Sorry, I'll stop asking weird questions now."

Light turned around and leaned against the exterior wall of Wammy House. This was the point in the conversation that he had dreaded. He didn't make small talk and he didn't have anything else to say.

"Sayu, I've got to get back to work. I just wanted to let you know how things are."

"That's fine. Thanks for calling; it was really good to hear from you." Was it just his imagination, or did she sound relieved as well? "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will." Such simple words, but it took a lot for him to say them. It was like a promise that he wasn't going to go back to his old thought processes.

They each said goodbye and Light snapped the phone shut, breathing out as if he'd just gone through one of Ryuzaki's mock interrogations. Why was talking to his family so exhausting? He wasn't even hiding anything. Rather, he wasn't hiding anything important anymore, but maybe the stress of doing it for so long made him dread every encounter with them.

That had to be it.


	33. Experimentation

The rest of Saturday vanished in a study-induced haze as Light inundated himself in reference materials, foreign language texts, and case studies. He spent hardly a minute away from his books, even eating his inconsequential meals with something to read in front of him. There wasn't a minute to waste but even he could not say why he felt he had to hurry.

Ryuzaki had either vanished or was staying out of sight since Light saw no sign of him the entire day. He didn't need to seek him out, but he did wonder if the man kept to his rooms or stayed out of Wammy House altogether during his off-time.

It wasn't as if he actually knew anything personal about his employer, after all.

He caught Near for breakfast both Saturday and Sunday, and the younger man agreed to use only Italian with Light until he felt more comfortable with it. He refused to speak English or Japanese and would only explain in French if Light had too much trouble. The rest of the time he used gestures or reiteration. Immersion training was fascinating but difficult, and Light appreciated the challenge to his intellect.

After discussing the news and conversational basics for almost two hours on Sunday, Near closed the practice session so he could go to sleep. At that point, he was shielding his eyes from the light bleeding through the curtains for the patchy sunlight outside made the cloud cover unusually luminous. Light bid him goodnight while reassembling the newspaper, reminding himself that he seemed to be the only person his age who kept a normal daytime schedule. Perhaps in time, he too would grow pale as milk from rising at nightfall and shunning the daylight and outdoors.

Wammy's appearance just before Light left the kitchen heralded an opportunity to avoid that dire fate. The older gentleman was heading into town to run his usual errands and wanted to know if Light wanted to accompany him. Light agreed for no other reason than to get outside since more time indoors had grown strangely unappealing.

Wammy never failed to be pleasant company and he kept Light engaged in conversation about his studies and how he was adjusting to training in general. Apparently he was to be Light's instructor for several "classes" next week and he wanted to see where Light stood regarding field work and firearms.

The rest of the time they just chatted while picking up items and visiting small businesses. It helped to have at least one normal person with whom to relate even if they didn't discuss anything important. Ryuzaki was nigh impossible to talk to and even Near and Matt showed obvious asocial tendencies. Wammy, however, knew how to initiate and guide a conversation, innocuous social skills Light used to have and had let go to waste after joining the NPA. Even if he didn't have any interest in what people were saying, he had at least been able to be polite in the past.

Of course, conversation also gave him an opportunity to see how much information he was giving away, useful things to know for when Ryuzaki was quizzing him on his counterintelligence skills. He couldn't let go of his training even on his free time anymore.

When Wammy parted paths with him later that afternoon, he subtly cautioned Light not to spend all of his time at Wammy House. He had pointed out several places that Light might find interesting while they shopped and suggested that he "see the sights" next weekend rather than studying so often. Light couldn't get offended when the man clearly had his best interests in mind but he did assure Wammy that he enjoyed being busy for the time being.

After that, Light lingered outside the carport since he didn't have anything to do other than study. The grounds were soggy from the melting snow and he was reluctant to squelch around the premises for no good reason. Instead, he meandered up the street that Wammy House was situated on, taking his time looking at the other buildings and just trying to remember how to relax.

There was a difference between taking a break and being the listless zombie that he had turned into during his last months in Japan. He was afraid of becoming _that person_ again but didn't know where the line was between relaxation and torpor. He had stayed busy because that was the easiest way to avoid _that person_ , but could he reasonably be busy forever?

How long could he blaze ahead, directionless, if he didn't know where he was going?

Nightfall brought him no answers, and he went back to reading and watching news when he did return to the house. It was the closest he came to idle thoughts unless he was playing Matt's DS. The thought of that made him smirk; even the DS games and Near's cryptograms were brain puzzles.

On Monday, Ryuzaki was in his rooms again as if he had never been gone. When Light asked nonchalantly how his weekend had been, Ryuzaki offered the dry explanation that he checked on business contacts out of town. Light was surprised and pleased enough to get a real answer that he didn't ask any more than that.

He had marksmanship training with Wammy that morning in addition to Ryuzaki's instruction. The change of pace was welcome since Ryuzaki's rooms had begun to feel strangely stifling after spending so much time in them previously. In another building behind Wammy House, Light was given several handguns from a locked cabinet and taught how to disassemble, clean, and inspect each one. After that, he was told how to wear and conceal them. Wammy explained the differences between police weapons and the ones they would have to use at a range located in town since they were only allowed certain types of handguns there.

Not being a field agent, this was information that Light had only read from books when he had entered the NPA. Despite his aversion to guns given where he had grown up, Wammy's brisk and clear instruction made the whole subject easier to handle.

That afternoon, Ryuzaki broached the subject again of how Light was planning to get out of the NPA. By now Light had gotten over Ryuzaki's earlier suggestion and was able to see the simplest of solutions. Since he was still in a probationary period at the NPA, Light could simply say that the work was not for him and leave. It was so infuriatingly easy that he could have kicked himself for not seeing it before. A few phone calls could both terminate his employment without any repercussions and get his father to clear out his things.

Ryuzaki seemed satisfied with the answer, as if Light had fulfilled some task by coming up with his own solution, no matter how simple. He couldn't figure out why and was just relieved that Ryuzaki would no longer have to badger him about it.

Tuesday was Light's least favorite day: practical application of interrogation techniques. It was exhausting to mentally fence with Ryuzaki for so long even if the effort itself was perversely rewarding. Light had no idea he had learned so much until he was forced to use everything he knew, cementing the knowledge in his mind. Light didn't want Ryuzaki to take it easy on him but at the end of the day, the older man's flippantly superior attitude left him more than slightly irritated.

Wednesday brought practical marksmanship instruction at the range Wammy had mentioned on Monday. He and Wammy spent most of the day there, working with several weapons on ranges meant to test different skills. On the way back to Wammy House, he told Light that after they were done familiarizing him with marksmanship, he would be given self-defense instruction. If he wanted more than that, they could secure a martial arts instructor to tutor him as well.

Light was getting the impression he would be a one-man army after all this training was done. Maybe Ryuzaki wanted him to be an independent agent, someone expected to work and survive alone? That seemed unlikely since Ryuzaki seemed too tight-fisted to give him that much independence.

He decided that he didn't care all that much so he didn't waste any more time thinking about it.

Thursday started out innocently enough as Light worked on memorizing numerous country profiles and histories, international laws, and other odd bits of information Ryuzaki handed him. However, the day segued into night and still Light was asked to peruse manuals and recite statistics even over dinner in Ryuzaki's room. Ryuzaki had it delivered to them, claiming that he didn't want any interruptions.

It became the longest day in Light's training history even given his late night study sessions in school. He hadn't taken a single break outside eating, and he had seen the inside of Ryuzaki's room for almost 15 maddening hours. Ryuzaki eventually admitted that he was curious to see how long Light could continue as a test of his mental endurance. When phrased like that, it was clearly a challenge and Light's desire to satisfy Ryuzaki's unclear standards riled him.

Given his previous lifestyle, Light thought he would be fine for at least 24 hours. After all, he was accustomed to working on little to no energy, and he had been sleeping well at Wammy House in comparison to his apartment in Japan.

After midnight, Ryuzaki started quizzing him on the hour, every hour to see what he was retaining and how fast he continued to read. At 3 AM, he volunteered to refill the coffee carafe for the third time that day and took the opportunity to flee the brightly-lit prison of Ryuzaki's rooms. The darkened manor struck him as especially silent in contrast as Light made his quiet way through the empty halls to the kitchen. It was like walking through a crypt; the whole world had died or gone to sleep and still Light was awake and working. The thought made him somehow miserable.

The night had never seemed so interminably long, but the watery sunlight on Friday morning brought no relief. By mid-morning, Light paced while he read and had a harder time articulating himself when questioned. He was finding that it was one thing to stay awake and quite another to continue trying to learn new information. When Ryuzaki left around noon to get more desserts or coffee, Light did pushups and jogged in place to try to raise his heart rate; at this point, the prospect of food or caffeine made him ill. Ryuzaki, in comparison, seemed quite smug about still looking wide awake.

Not long after noon, Light started to see and hear the true horror of what Ryuzaki had so nonchalantly suggested the night before.

Sleep deprivation, after all, was a form of torture.

By afternoon, Light was convinced Ryuzaki's room was infested. Every dark space held things that moved. He saw spiders skitter across the walls out of the corners of his eyes, but they vanished when he inevitably jumped. Black mold seemed to be creeping down from the ceiling as the day lengthened, and the darkness only helped more unseen things hide from him as the room swam in and out of focus.

The wind outside grew louder as the hours ground by; it shushed and roared around the corners of the house and made it hard to hear himself think. Sometimes, it was more like a swarm of invisible bees buzzing around his head. Occasionally he could hear unfamiliar voices talking in the hallway or on the television, but Ryuzaki always managed to turn the TV off right before Light asked him to do so. It was getting downright creepy.

He felt jumpy and distracted as a result and he had a hard time following what Ryuzaki was saying. Some dim corner of his brain registered that they no longer conversed in the same language at the same time even if Light could understand him, but he had no idea which one either of them was using. For that matter, he didn't even know what they were talking about.

"Light-kun," Ryuzaki said at one point in what was probably the afternoon or evening, interrupting Light's recitation of Hamlet's third soliloquy. Light couldn't look up for he was trying to see if his cup was full of either ants or coffee. "Who are you talking to?"

"You." Light responded, puzzled. "You asked me… something." His thoughts moved so slowly that it was like being drunk all over again, just without the pleasant floating sensation. Instead, he was merely dizzy and nauseous even when sitting down.

"I haven't spoken for 15 minutes. You're not reading _Hamlet_ either, I assure you." When Light looked up in consternation, Ryuzaki was grinning behind his thumb, obviously amused by him.

"Who's talking about _Hamlet_?" Light snapped, annoyed. It was hard enough to stay awake without Ryuzaki asking him stupid questions. He could feel his head starting to loll and stood up, shaking his hair out of his eyes. Abruptly he lost his balance and had to grab the sofa's arm to keep from falling.

The small shadows between the cushions on the sofa took on life and sprang at him. A most undignified noise ripped itself out of his throat and he jerked backward, trying to shake the critters off his arms.

" _Mice!"_ he squawked, backpedaling and nearly tripping over the coffee table behind him. Something caught both of his wrists from behind before he could fall and he flailed, terrified that someone had broken into the room. The grip on his hands was ironclad and he didn't have the strength to fight them off.

Ryuzaki's low voice came in a jarring deadpan only a few inches from Light's ear. "Please don't throw my teacups."

"Teacups?" Light repeated, both confused by the non sequitur and still anxious about intruders. Then he felt Ryuzaki's grip shift on one hand so he could extract Light's cup from his shaking fingers. Light dropped the filthy thing before any insects could crawl on him and Ryuzaki caught it, releasing his wrists in the process.

Light's heart was racing and he suddenly had no idea why as Ryuzaki set his cup down on the table. There were dark spots on the sofa where there had not been before. It took several blinks for him to realize that it was his coffee or tea, flung all over the upholstery.

"What just happened?" Light asked, feeling completely lost. His voice sounded tiny and child-like, and the roar of the wind only made it more so. Ryuzaki's apparent lack of concern for the building storm outside gave him the sinking feeling that it wasn't real and he didn't want to shout over it.

He felt out of control, like he was losing his mind. All the inexplicable background noise and voices, the things he saw crawling every time he moved his eyes, the dizziness, the inability to remember what he had been doing mere minutes ago…

He was going insane.

"You can go, Light-kun."

"What?" His heart was starting to race again as panic set in. Why was Ryuzaki telling him to go? _Is it 5 PM already? What day is it?_

"We're done for the day. You did well, but go get some rest." Ryuzaki walked over to his door and opened it.

When the meaning of that motion dawned on him, Light almost laughed and cried at the same time, feeling deranged. He could sleep now?! He did laugh, just quietly and under his breath as he moved to the door. He sounded like a lunatic, a madman.

Of course, he had a witness to his insanity: Ryuzaki, his conscience, his tormentor, always there when he was screwing up.

He tried to keep himself together while he checked his pocket and found his room key where it was supposed to be. After attempting to remember if he had brought anything to Ryuzaki's room last week or yesterday, he decided that he _really_ didn't care. Staying on his feet without weaving every few steps took most of his concentration.

"Are you going to be alright, Light-kun?"

Light hadn't realized Ryuzaki was walking beside him until he spoke. He blinked stupidly, trying to make him come into focus.

"Yes, fine, just give me a few hours." His body had supplied him a last ditch burst of energy which was just enough for him to walk and remember how to talk at the same time. He felt intoxicated and sick to his stomach, but surely a little sleep would fix him.

"It's Friday evening." Ryuzaki replied. "I don't expect to see you again until Monday."

"Thank God," Light said, rolling his eyes skyward even though that was nothing he would normally say. He was just so relieved. After an especially long trek down the stairs, he left Ryuzaki at the entrance to his wing and focused on remembering which door was his. He didn't even care if Ryuzaki stayed to watch him; all he cared about was getting into his blissfully dark room and falling asleep, showers be damned.

Ten minutes later, after his shower, he was finally able to relax enough to sleep. The horrors lurking in the corners of his room kept moving, but if he closed his eyes, at least he couldn't see them.

* * *

By mid-morning Saturday, Light felt like a human being again. His memories of the last two days were confused and the strength of his hallucinations was frightening, coloring most of his recollections. Embarrassed, he shied away from trying to recall everything he had done and felt toward the end.

Light still wanted to study more that weekend, but after that waking nightmare, he was reluctant to spend all of his time working. He wanted to unwind even if he didn't know how. He worked for a few hours and answered his family's emails since it was easier than talking on the phone, but it all felt half-hearted and merely time-consuming.

On Sunday, he took a book and fled Wammy House. He rode the trains this time, going down to the coast for no other reason than he thought it might be nice to see the sea while he read. He needed a change of pace, and he needed a break from the school.

There were park benches situated where he could see the gray waves breaking on a sandy shore pocked with rocks. The salty wind was just chilly enough to be brisk and it was refreshing while he read. However on account of his speed-reading, he finished the book in a mere hour and was forced to look for a bookstore after that. While he wandered the unfamiliar streets and businesses, he found himself unconsciously using his training to deflect any polite inquiries from shopkeepers as to why he was visiting the area. Apparently he looked foreign enough to stand out and not being in a tourist group made him an easier target for conversation.

At one point in the early evening, Light thought he was being followed. A middle-aged man had left the train at his station and Light had spotted him on the beach a while later. That alone wouldn't have been worth noticing if he hadn't been standing across the road when Light exited the bookstore as well. Telling himself that yesterday was making him paranoid, Light headed back down the street to a café he had seen earlier. Just because Ryuzaki made him analyze everything he told anyone and vice versa didn't mean that everyone else was suspicious.

A late dinner at the café and more time reading and perusing the city rounded off his evening, and he made his way back to the train station in a more relaxed frame of mind. He hadn't seen the man again so his fears were fortunately unfounded, and he felt peaceful as the trains bore him north. It seemed that today had been the right way to strike the balance between relaxing and being unproductive. As he had just seen, being "productive" all the time would make him insane.

He wondered how long he could keep up this pattern before it too started to wear at him.

Several weeks passed in the same manner, fortunately without any more tests of his "mental endurance". He absorbed whole volumes of material in days and recited laws verbatim for Ryuzaki when asked. He found that he had a steady hand with a weapon and enjoyed using them on the range even if he really didn't want to ever have to carry one. Wammy reassured him that it was more of a precaution than anything else since work could easily take them outside the country.

When Wammy asked what he wanted to do in the future while they talked on the weekends, Light didn't have definite answers. He was interested in Ryuzaki's work and workload, but he couldn't give a cookie-cutter career goal or aspiration, like owning a house or traveling the world. He didn't have any of those typical goals and was content to simply work for now.

Wammy didn't seem to like that response but he didn't push Light to come up with a better one. When he asked how Ryuzaki and he were getting along, Light said that Ryuzaki kept him busy. They weren't friends and Light didn't know what else to say about him.

He watched movies on Fridays and sometimes talked them over with Matt or Near, rarely both, afterward. Matt used half-Russian, half-English with him, but Near was a more consistent trainer in that he picked one language and used it almost exclusively.

All in all, Light was never without a book or a computer in front of him during the work week. If he wasn't, he was either sleeping or showering. He hadn't made a conscious effort to follow Ryuzaki's example of not taking breaks, but he liked being busy. Being busy meant purpose, being busy meant distraction, and being busy meant that he was not backsliding into mental exhaustion and depression.

On weekends he wandered Winchester or took the train elsewhere, filling his eyes with the new landscapes and familiarizing himself with the layout of the roads. Sometimes he just took his car out for hours with no destination in mind. He ate out, practicing seemingly insignificant small talk with the waiters or storeowners if they talked to him. It was a like a game since he tried every time to change his back story, his name, his reason for visiting and where he was from. It kept his mind sharp.

Ryuzaki was pleased with his progress even if he didn't say so outright anymore. He merely increased his pace and Light kept up.

* * *

"Light-kun."

The low voice tickled at Light's consciousness, and he wondered why in the world he was hearing Ryuzaki's voice in his dreams. For that matter, his pillow was unusually hard and uncomfortable. Why was he sleeping on his stomach, anyway?

A sharp object jabbing him in the forehead finally made him sit up and rub at the sore spot, his eyes still closed. Only when he felt the dent in his skin did he realize that he had fallen asleep in his German grammar book and the exposed staple in the binding was stabbing him.

He opened bleary eyes to see that he was still in one of the libraries. He recognized the table at which he sat even if the room was still shrouded in darkness outside the circle of light that his lamp cast. How long had he been asleep?

"Light—" came his name again, startling Light into flinching. Ryuzaki's voice broke off and Light saw that the man himself was not three feet from him, his hand outstretched to wake Light. The light from his lamp had blinded him to Ryuzaki's presence lingering in the shadows. His expression was unreadable to Light's sleep-fogged eyes.

Trying to cover his surprise, Light checked his watch but his vision was still too blurry to make it out. He blinked the sleep fiercely out of his eyes, irritated at being caught off-guard like so many times before.

"It's 4:03 AM." Ryuzaki's voice was uncharacteristically subdued, as if he was trying not to disturb anyone despite the fact that the room was empty. "Have you been here all night?"

"No… Yes." Light wanted to groan and hold his head now that he realized what an idiot he had been. He had not been tired enough at his usual time, so he had wandered down to one of the libraries to do some reading until he was more amenable to sleeping. The idea of leisure reading was still a foreign concept during the work week and he had stayed busy instead with volumes on criminal psychology.

It seemed, however, that grammar had been the cure for insomnia. At least, he couldn't remember reading this book for very long before Ryuzaki woke him. He had slept soundly, attempting to absorb grammar rules through his skin for almost three hours. Now he was nauseous and his mouth felt gritty from the herbal tea he had been drinking. Sitting up made his neck scream in pain and he tried unsuccessfully to crack it without being obvious about it.

"German, Light-kun?" Ryuzaki queried, his voice still quiet. He had turned Light's book over with one finger to study the cover. His expression could pass for pleased when it finally came into focus.

" _Yes, German. We could almost conduct training in it now_. _"_ Light replied a little smugly in what Near had assured him was fairly cohesive German, crossing his arms in front of him and leaning on them. Light too was a natural at languages; at least, he soaked them up like a sponge. Ryuzaki's eyebrows raised and one corner of his mouth turned up slightly.

" _You've been busy in your spare time."_ Ryuzaki added. _"I overheard you talking to Matt in Russian as well."_ He changed languages again and Light smiled in response, rising to the challenge despite the unreasonable hour and how much his neck was throbbing.

" _He's not a strict teacher like Near,but I think I learned a lot from him."_ His Russian vocabulary was not as strong as his German, but he liked the way it sounded even if his sentences were more simplistic.

"Take care, Light-kun, that you don't neglect your training or your health for these extracurricular studies." Ryuzaki went back to Japanese at that and Light felt his temper flare unexpectedly, spoiling the mood.

"Have I been slipping _at all_ , Ryuzaki? I can manage myself in my spare time." He realized too late that Ryuzaki was referring to him sleeping in the library and grew angry with himself instead. He rubbed ineffectively at the cramped muscles in his neck again to distract himself. He felt like he was going to be sick, so strong was the pain from having it overextended for hours. Shifting his focus to the table, he tried to keep from grimacing in front of Ryuzaki.

"I don't doubt that, but you shouldn't have to use your spare time. We can do this during training." Ryuzaki cocked his head at Light as his words trailed off in volume, frowning slightly. "Don't move, Light-kun."

Light unconsciously followed the order, leaving one hand where it lay on his neck and the other on the table, clenched in a fist. Ryuzaki watched him for a moment before circling him to stand behind Light's chair.

"What are you doing?" Light asked, trying to turn and watch him.

"I said 'don't move.'" Ryuzaki repeated rather imperiously before taking the top of Light's head one-handed and turning him back around. Affronted at the liberties being taken with his person, Light started to object when a stab of pain lanced through his shoulders, obliterating any coherent thoughts he might have had.

He bit back a curse and tried to twist away from Ryuzaki's hands, but the older man held him tighter in response with only his fingertips. His dexterous fingers found every knot in Light's neck and upper back, even the base of his skull, and put an ungodly amount of pressure on each of them. It felt like Ryuzaki was digging into him with a hot poker; Light had to stop fighting and focus all his energy on not screaming as tears sprang to his eyes. He couldn't even breathe and his ears started to ring.

When Ryuzaki let go half a minute later, Light almost fell forward on the table with the sheer agony that slammed through his nerves. He gritted his teeth hard enough to shatter enamel to keep from shouting obscenities that would wake the whole house.

However, with the next gasp he was able to take, the pain nearly vanished as his aching muscles suddenly eased. His shock rendered him speechless while he slowly sat up, gingerly rubbing his neck only to find all the knots gone or fading swiftly away. The places that Ryuzaki's fingers had pressed felt warm, almost hot.

"What did you do?" he asked softly, the words slipping out in surprise before he could make them sound any more intelligent.

"Shiatsu." Ryuzaki flexed his fingers and Light heard a few bones pop when he walked back around to Light's front. "It accomplishes what typical massages do with a minimum of time and effort."

Blinking away the remnants of unshed tears, Light felt inexplicably embarrassed for making Ryuzaki think he had to do something like that even if he was grateful for it.

"Thank you." Light had to look away as he spoke. It was unsettling to have the other man touch him so casually when their interaction had mostly been stiff and impersonal thus far.

Not that he wanted it any other way. It was just… disturbing.

Ryuzaki gave a small shrug, looking down at Light's books. "It's a useful skill." He paused for the briefest of moments, an indecisive look crossing his features. "You should probably sleep in your room rather than here. I'll see you at eight."

Light felt a sardonic smile pulling at his mouth in response to Ryuzaki's order disguised as advice. "Sure. See you then."

The older man was gone before Light had stacked his books, moving noiselessly out of the room. As he re-shelved the volumes and yawned in anticipation of going back to sleep, he wondered if interacting with Ryuzaki would ever be any less jarring and downright weird. Would there ever be a time when Ryuzaki treated him like something other than a test subject or a child in need of constant supervision? Granted, the man had revived him more or less, but for all that Ryuzaki had claimed to want a genius; it counted for nothing with the detective.

He recalled the feel of Ryuzaki's fingers sliding through the hair on the back of his neck and almost shuddered.


	34. Stonewalling

"You should take Light with you. It's not that demanding a case." Wammy deposited a folder full of printouts on the table. Their Singapore contact had finally brought up a drug smuggling case with the requisite number of dollars involved in order for L to be interested.

L continued to pack away one of his laptops and didn't grace Wammy with a reply.

"Don't you think it would help to familiarize him with the job?"

"He's not ready."

"Or you just don't trust him."

L snapped the hard case shut in response and started digging through his closet. He pulled down several nearly identical shirts and stuffed them into a bag with his jeans. Wammy moved to unsnarl and fold them when L wandered back to his cup of coffee.

"Light _also_ isn't ready. He hasn't learned enough yet to be an asset rather than a hindrance." Wammy started to protest but L cut him off. "He has enough material to study and a training regimen."

"Being left behind is going to frustrate him."

"I told him this might happen. He knows to expect it."

"You may want to tell him _before_ you leave him hanging at breakfast."

"I intend to." L set down his cup and walked to the door. "Contact the pilot so we can leave in an hour," L ordered out of habit, choosing to ignore Wammy's reproachful look as he left.

Only Wammy could get away with pointing out the so-called flaws in L's plans, but that didn't mean he had to be gracious about receiving them.

Fortunately, he caught Light at the top of the staircase on the way to the kitchen. With a minimum of detail, he explained about their need to leave on short notice. Light's look could be best described as baleful before a calculated air of nonchalance settled over him.

"How long do you think you'll be gone?" Light's lack of expression could have mirrored L's own.

"A week, maybe less. I'll stay in contact and assign you tasks."

Light stared at him as if waiting for something more. "Where are you going?"

"Overseas."

"Specifically?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Is this how it's always going to be, Ryuzaki?" Light started walking down the stairs, dismissing L already. "Have a good flight."

"I can't involve you before you finish—"

"Don't tell me." Light interrupted as he continued his descent, casting a half-smile over his shoulder that held no warmth whatsoever. "I don't need to know, right?"

With that, Light left the steps and made his way down the hall without looking back. L didn't plan to linger and watch him go, but Light was out of sight before he turned to go back to his rooms. He bit his thumbnail and tasted the last sugar cube he had dropped in his coffee.

Light was… a conundrum.

He was doing well, surpassing L's expectations now that they had established a pattern. L couldn't predict his actions with 100 percent accuracy anymore, and he turned L's own questions and tricks against him more often than he would have liked.

Light's success didn't mean L was ready to involve him on a case. Light had barely been here a month; L hadn't started to learn how to fit Light into his usual way of doing things. Additionally, the rampant antagonism that surfaced whenever Light didn't like the answers to his questions invariably soured whatever camaraderie they had previously established. It was no way to work and it was downright exhausting sometimes to keep redefining their relationship.

L had wanted Light to stop needing to be led around and told what to do, but not if he turned into this intractable, mercurial person.

It was a paradox, working with Light.

* * *

Studying without tests was dull. Light had nothing by which to gauge his progress without Ryuzaki there to pick his brain every morning. He checked in with Light by video teleconference each night, but more or less he was making sure Light said that yes, he was studying this particular book and had already completed this one, et cetera.

It was demeaning.

Light hadn't needed his mother to make sure that he completed his schoolwork nor did he need this near-stranger to check off his progress on a daily basis. To his credit, Ryuzaki had tried reviewing the material on the first day, but it wasn't the same as doing it in person and they gave up after that. At least he hadn't started asking if Light was eating three meals a day.

Almost every day that week, Light took his books outside the house to get fresh air and to distract himself from the fact that this was _boring_. He bundled up and sat on a bench outside the house if it wasn't raining or took his work to the library if it was. He needed the change in environment without anything else to stimulate him.

On Wednesday, Matt gifted him with a laptop he had just refurbished and outfitted so Light would be able to spend his free time familiarizing himself with the new programs over the next few days. Matt also happily demonstrated how to infiltrate various databases and break through firewalls while Light lingered in his workshop.

It was only after Light left for the day that he realized Near's cryptologic abilities would complement Matt's hacking techniques, yet he never saw the two together. They and Ryuzaki worked in the same place and seemed to do related activities but they all operated independently, hoarding their talents and, in Light's opinion, working inefficiently.

Perhaps his tempestuous relationship with Ryuzaki was a testament to _why_ they didn't work together. After all, he was the only one being trained to work with one of them.

* * *

"I'll need more work tomorrow." Light paused in the middle of ironing one of his shirts on Wednesday evening. "Do I need a membership to use the handgun range if Mr. Wammy isn't with me?" He directed the questions at the computer screen beside him.

"Yes, you do. You finished all the volumes I left?" L had positioned his own computer so Light saw nothing but a blank wall behind him.

"Just this morning. I've reviewed them as well as the plans you left in your room."

L's face was its usual expressionless mask but Light heard the slightest twinge of irritation in his voice. "Light-kun has availed himself of my quarters?"

"Not yet but perhaps I should." Light knew that would infuriate Ryuzaki even though his prior claims were total lies. "When are you coming back?"

"This weekend. What _is_ Light-kun doing in the meantime?" Ryuzaki covered his displeasure as easily as breathing.

"Hacking your firewalls and working on my German." Another lie but he intended to make good on that one.

"Good luck, Light-kun." Ryuzaki smiled, an eerily cheerful expression that showed he was anything but sincere. "If you crack them, I'll take you on the next case regardless of your training status."

Obviously that would be impossible if Ryuzaki was promising him anything.

"I'll stay busy. Do you want me to focus on anything?" Light started hanging up his shirts, unwilling to look as if he was giving Ryuzaki his undivided attention.

"We'll start practical application outside Wammy House when I return. That's all." Ryuzaki hesitated for a moment as he glanced off-screen, probably towards Wammy. "Good night." The display winked out.

Light shut off the computer, suffused with an odd satisfaction at even minor evidence that L was working on his social skills. It felt good to have an effect on Ryuzaki, not just the other way around.

* * *

Despite Light's claims to the contrary, it took him almost all of Thursday to finish the volumes he had to read. Ryuzaki had left him more than enough for the week; Light just wanted to prove him wrong again.

He was mentally exhausted and decided that something nonintellectual was in order by way of celebration. He had enough books for pleasure reading and certainly hadn't read everything in the house, but perhaps he could visit Winchester proper instead.

Otherwise, he would likely curl up here in the solarium's too-comfortable chairs and try to nap off his weariness. His fingers were lost somewhere in the pages of the last of his study materials, his eyes fluttering as he put his head back, all too ready to succumb to the temptation of sleep.

When the familiar ennui began to settle over him, he jerked upright, brushing off the fatigue like unexpected ants at a picnic. Before he could start thinking about sleep again, he pulled his phone from one pocket and called Matt.

He hadn't quite grown accustomed to the idea of spending time with Matt for no reason, but Matt _had_ invited him to his workshop for work and games alike. Maybe he'd be amenable to a nonsense trip downtown in Wammy's absence.

"Can't do it tonight." Matt responded to Light's query amidst roars and explosions as he continued playing one of his games. "I'm in the middle of a raid and it's bound to take two or three more hours. Maybe next time?"

"Sure. Have fun." Light hung up and stood to stretch his spine, avoiding the chair's comfort. At least there was always exploring to be done in the city. When he turned to the door, however, he caught sight of Near in the hall where he had evidently been passing by.

"Are you going somewhere?" Near asked, one finger twirling his hair.

"I was thinking about a night tour or a museum." Light shrugged. Near knew from their morning conversation that Light had been close to completing all of his tasks.

"Is that part of Ryuzaki's training?"

"No, it's strictly for pleasure now that I'm done." Light paused in the process of gathering up his study materials. "Do you want to come?" Near was definitely not an outdoor person but he felt he should ask out of politeness.

Near hesitated only a moment before he asked "Would that be alright?" Light barely managed to cover his surprise as he picked up his books. It was almost nightfall so it wouldn't bother Near's eyes but Near had never left the house with Light, unlike Matt.

"Of course." He recovered swiftly. "Do you have any suggestions? Mr. Wammy gave me a few ideas."

"There is an arts festival going on, I believe. I haven't been to any of them." Near continued spiraling his hair as he had not done for some time when talking to Light. "I don't often go out." He was almost sheepish with that admission.

"It's not a bad time to start." It hadn't rained for several days in a row, after all.

"It isn't, is it?" Near said faintly, his distracted eyes somewhere else.

After he dropped off his books and they both dressed for the chillier night air, Light took them out in his car, feeling better with every chance he had to drive it. He might not be able to dictate Ryuzaki's attitude or training methods or even how he responded to it but for a little while, he was the one in control, the one making decisions.

It was a pity the feeling only survived as long as he was driving.

They barely managed to find parking amidst the unusual jumble of displays, performances, and pedestrians brought about by the festival. For the next hour and a half, they meandered through the winding streets, pausing to watch theatre groups and listen to lectures alike. There were small choral groups on the corners and art exhibits were everywhere for them to wander through. It certainly hadn't been a bad day to choose to visit Winchester.

As they took in the sights, Near occasionally commented on the subject of the discussions going on around them or the art at which they were looking. He was interesting company despite all of his contemplative silences. The younger man had always been disinclined to make small talk when they happened to dine together, but Light attributed it to the fact that Near only spoke when necessary.

By the time they had their fill of the stalls and shows, dinner had long passed them by. They found a café to get a quick bite to eat before heading back to the house, spent. Near almost looked dead on his feet when he left Light's car, which was not surprising given how jarring all those people would be to his asocial nature and the fact that he rarely left the premises.

Light locked up and followed him inside. Stifling a yawn as he waved goodnight, he ruminated on how much he was learning about the other residents of Wammy House. It wasn't his goal to insinuate himself into their lives but it seemed to be happening with or without his consent. However, it was helpful to him and his education since Near, Matt, and even Wammy were sharing their trades with him, whether inadvertently or not.

It was one more thing that might impress Ryuzaki, however minutely, when he returned.

* * *

On Saturday, Ryuzaki broke the news that he wasn't going to be able to come back as soon as he planned. A similar case to the one he was working on had been uncovered during his research, so he was investigating what could possibly be an international ring rather than a localized one.

Light took it all in with a dim sense of resignation and no surprise whatsoever. Despite Ryuzaki's assurances that he would provide him with more work, Light didn't want another week of book-reading and only occasional mental stimulation if he got Near or Matt to work with him. In some ways, it was too much like university: learn material, self-study, regurgitate information on tests, and repeat.

He thought he was done with that phase of his life. He spent a few days without complaint following Ryuzaki's regimen and adding his own linguistic pursuits before he finally broached the subject one night. It interrupted their usual discussion of what Light had studied.

"Is there some reason I can't come with you?"

Ryuzaki's face betrayed nothing as he replied. "There is little for you to gain here. I'm doing nothing face-to-face."

"So why are you there in person? If it was all online, wouldn't you still be here?" Light grew annoyed at the fact that his inquiries were starting to sound like childish demands for Ryuzaki's attention.

"There is much to this job that you aren't prepared for. That's why I left you with materials."

"These?" Light gestured at the small stack of volumes beside the computer even if they were out of Ryuzaki's sight. "These aren't even criminal studies anymore so much as legalese and world history. You didn't mention that in my agenda."

"A decent Interpol agent needs to have a background in that information."

Light sat back at his desk, twirling a pen idly as he studied Ryuzaki's face on the video feed. He knew the signs of misdirection, of Ryuzaki's _mendacity_. "Why don't you want me there? You're giving me nothing but excuses."

Now Ryuzaki had the decency to look irritated, which Light suspected was a grand gesture on his part. "I do not think we would work together efficiently yet."

Finally, the truth. It was a pity that knowing it didn't make him feel any better.

"You think I'm going to improve by _not_ working with you." Light bit out, instantly regretting it for it was juvenile to resort to sarcasm.

"I warned you that this might not go smoothly."

"So try harder." Light set the pen down on the desk, inexplicably frustrated by far more than not being invited along on whatever case Ryuzaki was working on. "Why did you bring me here?"

Ryuzaki bit down on his thumbnail, a move that screamed he was uncomfortable with the question based on prior observations. "I considered Light-kun best-suited for the job."

"For which job?"

The sound of a phone ringing softly on Ryuzaki's end enraged Light. Here was the excuse Ryuzaki needed to delay this conversation for another time.

"I have a call. Tomorrow, Light-kun." Ryuzaki actually looked apologetic as he shut off the camera.

With deliberate nonchalance, Light closed his laptop since it would do no good to slam it. Ryuzaki's head wasn't really in there and Light wouldn't really be mashing his face into the keys.

Rubbing at the sudden tension in his temples, Light knew that there wouldn't be any 'tomorrow' since Ryuzaki would either not call or manipulate the conversation as he saw fit.

He felt awful right now, not only from another pointless dialogue but from too much time bent over books and too little time sleeping. The constant shifts in the weather outside didn't make it easier. If the air didn't have a sprinkling of snow, far too often it was raining and windy.

Dinner wasn't important enough for him to contemplate it when his head ached this much. He opted to call it an early night since he was still ahead in his studies. Surely one night wasn't going to start him backsliding. He wouldn't make a habit of this, he promised himself as he headed upstairs.

* * *

On Friday, Light found his stalker again.

He had seen the man in passing as he picked a paper off the newsstand during Light's walk to the library. At the time, Light had thought nothing of seeing a familiar face and continued on his way. When he left the library several hours later and saw the man again, he grew suspicious.

He was almost certain it was the man that he had seen before when he took the train to the beach. His build was the same and his manner of walking similar enough that Light was certain he wasn't imagining it.

To his credit, the man had changed coats and scarves between the two times Light had seen him today in an attempt to make himself less noticeable. He was an intelligent stalker; surely no petty thief would go to that much effort if he was only going to rob Light.

Light rounded the corner to the library, pretending to head down the street toward one of the cafes he frequented. His stalker had been lingering outside the library's front doors before sitting on a bench and reading his newspaper, but Light was certain he would follow.

Light was leaning up against the library's red brick, half-hidden behind the heating units that jutted out from the wall, when the man passed by. He was in the process of pocketing his scarf and again changing his appearance.

"Is there something you want from me?" Light asked and the man startled, stopping in his tracks.

"I beg your pardon?" He looked for all the world as if Light was the one acting strangely. Now that he was closer, Light could pick out blond hair underneath his hat and the beginning of a beard under sharp blue eyes. He was stockier and taller than Light and walked with the slightest limp on one side. Yes, this was exactly the man that had followed Light off the train.

"I wondered if there was any particular reason you were following me." Light asked in a deadpan, not moving from his place or uncrossing his arms.

"Young man," he laughed with a hint of condescension in his voice. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm on my way to the bus stop."

"There was a bus stop across the road from you." Light narrowed his eyes, certain he was right. "Did you not see it?"

"I'm going to miss my bus. Excuse me." The man tipped his hat, implying that he had the manners Light lacked by questioning him like that.

"Who put you up to this?"

Even as he asked that, Light knew the answer. The flicker of surprise on the other man's features was a confirmation, however he might have denied it.

"I've been insufferably rude." Light changed tactics altogether. "Please forgive my impertinence. I'm jumping at shadows."

"No offense taken. Good day." The man's discomfited look still showed consternation as he left.

Light pulled out his phone as he walked in the opposite direction, thumbing a rapid text message to none other than Ryuzaki.

" _Tell your dog to get off my tail. You owe me an explanation for that."_

A minute later, his phone vibrated with Ryuzaki's enigmatic reply. _"Good work."_

Light seethed.

So Ryuzaki didn't trust Light enough to take him along on casework, but he insisted Light was the one he wanted for the job even though he lied to him regularly and had him tailed.

Sometimes, it all felt like a colossal practical joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I prefer this definition to the slang one. Stonewalling: To engage in delaying tactics; stall. To refuse to answer or cooperate. Doing whatever can be done to hinder or obstruct a discussion.
> 
> I obsess over word choice. It's L in a nutshell.


	35. Malignant

"Did you skip breakfast? I didn't see you this morning." Near asked over another puzzle. They were seated at the kitchen's island since it gave them more space to spread the pieces out. The dinner plates had been pushed out of the way, but Light still sipped his after-dinner tea while they worked.

"I think I forgot to set my alarm." Indifferent, Light picked up one of the white pieces, noting that it was glossy and double-sided, the edges cut in two directions to further confuse anyone trying to put the puzzle together. He stared down at the multitude of them as well as the pieces Near had already fit together.

Contemplating it made his head hurt more than it already did.

"I'm coming down with a cold or something." Light added as an excuse for his behavior. He didn't want Near thinking it was normal for him to forget something so trivial.

He could hear the sound of the Friday night movie playing down the hall, but it didn't intrude on the peacefulness in the kitchen. The younger children were still busy and he and Near were both waiting it out until the adults' movie began.

"What's on tonight's agenda?" Light asked, pausing until Near put both hands around his own drink before trying to fit his puzzle piece to the ones already connected.

"I didn't pay attention to the schedule. I'd rather be surprised." Near watched Light's futile efforts to fit the piece to the others. "Flip it over and try again."

"Success," Light said under his breath as he found the piece's place at long last.

"Salutations, Light, Near." Matt's voice drifted in from the doorway. He only stopped long enough to wave in greeting before continuing on his path to the front door.

"It's raining," Light said by way of warning. He knew Matt would need a jacket to protect his handheld since the wind often blew the rain well under the overhang.

"Thanks." Matt's reply was still faintly audible from down the hall. Light stirred the milk in his tea and waited with another puzzle piece for a break in Near's progress. When he heard other voices in the hall, his eyes flicked toward the doorway; these weren't part of the movie.

Light waited until he could see shapes passing by the door before he asked in a louder voice, "Why were you having me followed?"

The conversation in the hall stopped but Light dropped his eyes to the puzzle. Even after a shape approached the island out of the corner of his eye, he studiously ignored it.

"It was a test and you passed." The speaker slouched against the far side of the island in an uncharacteristic display of nonchalance.

"A test? To discover that I had a stalker?" Light set the puzzle piece down and looked at Ryuzaki. The other man's hair and clothes were damp from the rain, but his expression was bemused rather than discomfited. "What was he finding out about me before I caught him?"

Near continued to put the puzzle together, eyes fixed on the table as if he could block out the conversation.

"Another time, Light-kun." Ryuzaki's expression wavered the slightest bit even as he smiled in a placating manner, which only infuriated Light.

"No, _now._ "

Ryuzaki cocked an eyebrow at his tone when Light stood so he didn't have to look up at Ryuzaki. Where was he getting these hidden reserves of antagonism?

"You don't trust me _at all_ and this is you running your own investigation, isn't it?"

"I would think it justified if I was." Ryuzaki lowered his voice, no longer feigning that he was amused. "Perhaps I can't trust another organization's assessment of you. In that case, I would need to conduct my own research."

Even now, Ryuzaki avoided admitting what he had done.

"What more do you want from me?" Light spread his hands, offering them palm-up in surrender when his expression said he was doing nothing of the sort. "I live in this house, I took another identity at your request, and you're certainly capable of digging into my background without my consent.

"So I repeat: how can I prove myself? What could I possibly be hiding from you?" He was keeping his voice low with an effort now.

Ryuzaki's eyes darted to the sides, taking note of listeners, before he pushed himself off the island. His shoulders were hunched slightly, but other than that, he gave nothing away.

"I need more time, Light-kun." Ryuzaki, again, sounded apologetic even if he had never let so much as the words 'I'm sorry' cross his lips. His mouth was slightly open as though he wanted to say more but he closed it and looked away.

Light sighed, feeling the fight suddenly drain out of him. This was pointless. Why did he want these answers so badly? Did he even care?

He should be grateful just to have a job and a future; he shouldn't argue because he was angry at being used. He had _asked_ to be used, after all.

Maybe that had been a mistake.

He looked over Ryuzaki's shoulder and saw Wammy framed in the kitchen doorway. The older gentleman wore a disconcerted expression that faded to concern when he met Light's gaze.

The idea of pity disgusted him and he turned to pick up his dinner plate only to find Near still studying his puzzle, eyes wide and face blank. To all appearances, he was oblivious to the scene even though Light doubted he was ignorant of what was going on.

Unconcerned with any display he might have put on for his unwilling witnesses, Light brushed past Ryuzaki, who thankfully wasn't talking anymore, and deposited his dish in the dishwasher. Not even Wammy stopped him as he left.

He made it to his room in relative calm but slammed the heavy door so hard that only the doorframe's sturdy construction saved it from shattering. As it was, it only thudded with a monstrous boom that echoed satisfyingly up and down the hall.

He stepped backward, breathing hard until the back of his knees hit the bed and he sat down. He had come ostensibly to retrieve Ryuzaki's books so he could return them but instead, Light stared at the phone that had somehow appeared in his hands. Was there anyone he was supposed to be calling?

It eventually slid out of his limp grasp and hit the carpet with a dull thud but still he stared at the void left behind, transfixed.

When he finally did leave the room, he was late to the movie after returning the books to Wammy. He didn't entirely know what was going on but the noise and the lights were a welcome distraction and he could just let his mind wander. Near was nowhere to be found and even Matt kept to himself for most of the night, only bidding Light a half-hearted farewell at the end of it.

Light found himself wondering why he had ever wanted their company in the first place.

* * *

"I had no idea the two of you got along so well." Wammy said drily as he reshelved some of the volumes Light had returned. They were sitting in one of the downstairs libraries with the door firmly closed against visitors.

"Light discovered Aiber and he was not in a forgiving mood." L paused in the middle of checking the status of his computer's firewalls to add with a note of grudging respect. "He improved on Matt's tricks."

"Why was Aiber watching him?"

"Because I asked him to do so." L put the laptop aside, satisfied that there were no trails to indicate that Light had succeeded in hacking his server. "I need to ascertain whether or not Light is doing anything suspicious."

"He came here because he was desperate." Wammy huffed in indignation, clearly annoyed by L's reasoning. "He isn't going to turn traitor immediately and sell secrets about you."

"I wish I could be that trusting… sir." L added at the last second in an attempt to mollify him. That was probably a rude remark to make.

He made his way to the pie he had left abandoned and took a bite, curling up into a corner of the sofa as he did so. Nothing fueled his need for sweets like having pointless arguments with everyone, Near included. Light's public display had caused more than one person to come to his defense.

"L, you _know_ he isn't going to do anything, otherwise you wouldn't have brought him here."

L set down the fork when, for the first time in his life, he really wanted to fling it through the nearest window. He had no more patience to reason with people who should know better, who _did_ know better and refused to acknowledge their past mistakes.

"I distinctly recall being told for almost _30 years_ that I couldn't trust _anyone_." L ran a hand through his hair instead of balling up his fists in frustration. Deception was necessary no matter the audience.

"That doesn't apply to _him_. How do you exp—"

"Doesn't it?" L put his hands down, his voice revealing none of his turmoil and only reflecting an unflappable calm that had been drilled into him for years. He addressed his reflection in the window rather than looking at the man who had mentored L for almost his entire life.

"What teachings am I supposed to remember or discard now, Mr. Wammy? I'm sorry if I'm having trouble adapting to a situation that we never anticipated."

No answer came, but he hadn't expected one; Wammy just sighed and set down the books he was holding. L hugged his knees to himself and stared out the darkened window, unable and unwilling to say anything more.

Since he had been brought to Wammy House, one teaching had never wavered. Other house rules had changed with his age and experience but one always remained.

_You can't trust anyone outside this house. If people knew who you were, what you were, you would have no credibility and no authority. You can't give them anything or they will try to exploit or discredit you because power intimidates them._

_Your power lies in your secrecy, the mystery of your identity. If they don't know you, they will never control you._

He had been twelve at the time but Wammy and all of his tutors were already treating him like an adult. His childhood had been a long series of lessons that he could only rely on himself, and so he did.

Then the other instructors, Wammy and Roger included, introduced his Alternate and his Backup; they wanted to raise others to be like himself. What no one had anticipated was how those children would react to being trained to be someone that they were not and never could be. Once A swallowed his handgun during training and B was imprisoned on felony charges, he had thought it was over. It was a failed experiment and should have been abandoned.

Instead, the rules of the game were changed and the fight for who would be his 'heirs' began. These children were not being trained to become L, but they would take over his practice after he was dead.

But L was young and far from ready to die. He liked being alive and enjoyed the prestige that came with his hard-earned titles.

Mello had been the most individually promising of his heirs. He had also been confrontational and impetuous; it was only natural that he would be the one to rage against the future that had been determined for him. L's continued existence thwarted the only goals he had been given, so Mello had tried to end the stalemate.

What Mello hadn't counted on was killing himself instead of L. Likewise, L hadn't anticipated being unable to walk away from that accident a whole person.

His mortality mocked him every time they discussed yet another operation to mitigate the damage done to his spine. He lived with this reminder of his failures every day yet Wammy asked him why he couldn't share information or power with someone who was practically a stranger?

Wammy wasn't going to live forever either and there was no one fit to replace him as 'Watari' at Wammy House. If Near ever took over for L, galling as the thought was, he would need an eminently capable Watari to assist him. The boy was ill-equipped to survive on his own.

L had seen the need to look elsewhere but it was hard to make himself trust Light even though he was an excellent candidate. Every instinct of L's screamed for him to hide behind his lies and keep secrets because it was the only lifestyle he had ever known.

Now the question was whether or not Light could wait for him when the price was Light himself if L took too long.

* * *

It took a long time for Light to fall asleep when he kept wondering if his phone would ring. He even picked it up after he'd already turned off the lights and just held it, wondering if Ryuzaki would bang on his door if he called and Light didn't answer.

In the end, he left it on his dresser, still turned on even though he had the distinct sensation of trying to sleep with a bomb in the room.

When his alarm went off after a fitful sleep, he reset it for fifteen minutes later since he didn't want to bother with sitting down for breakfast. It was only after it sounded again that it occurred to him to check the date on his phone.

Saturday. He didn't need to set an alarm or see Ryuzaki today since it was the weekend.

Chuckling darkly, he set the phone back down and wondered if it was worth it to try to get back to sleep. He felt congested and his head ached, but he doubted he could sleep anymore.

There was no one in the kitchen when he finally made it down after a too-long shower and too much time spent analyzing his closet. He plucked idly at the newspaper from yesterday and sipped tea, feeling irritably listless until Wammy appeared to save him from these doldrums.

Light offered to drive him on the usual circuit of weekend errands since it would better acquaint him with areas of the city that he wouldn't otherwise visit. Most of their conversation centered around trivialities but it staved off what was becoming inevitable ennui. Together they planned the training that Light wanted to continue with him next week, pointedly avoiding the fact that Ryuzaki would have wanted to be involved in that discussion.

Wammy's demeanor suggested that he and Ryuzaki were not in agreement about some aspect of Light's training, but they never brought it up. Light wasn't sure he cared to know anymore.

He spent the rest of the day reading novels and avoiding Ryuzaki and much of Sunday doing the same, minus the always-awkward emails to his family. Each week he fought to come up with new information that wouldn't reveal anything about where he was, what he was doing, and with whom he was associating while allaying their fears that he was lonely or homesick or some other petty affliction. It was still easier than making phone calls.

When Monday came, it was almost a relief. He arrived at Ryuzaki's door at the usual time since he hadn't given him any other instructions, seemingly thinking that Light didn't need to be contacted or bothered during his 'free time'.

When Ryuzaki answered the door, something was off about him. He looked distracted and wary, like Light was a total stranger coming into his space.

Fantastic. Now they were back to their very awkward start point. He probably had himself to thank for that, although his reactions had been more than justified by Ryuzaki's continuous displays of mistrust.

How was the man pretending that he was going to work with Light when everything he did still said that he suspected him? He kept all kinds of information from Light while dangling this 'perfect job' before him, like he expected Light to chase it without even the promise of a reward.

It was through sheer force of will and a very professional detachment from each other that they managed to get through that morning. It was mostly Ryuzaki quizzing him and testing him on the interrogation cues he had already picked up, mundane things that were unlikely to irritate either of them.

That afternoon, Ryuzaki took him out with the intent to test his abilities to conceal information and direct conversations with total strangers. Light went to several car dealerships and talked every salesman down on vehicles he knew nothing about. He simply judged the outrageousness of their lies based on posture and tone and asked exactly the questions they were trying to avoid. He sidestepped their attempts to pressure and guide him with ease and left them with polite promises to consider their offers, thus insuring that his presence would be welcome if he returned.

Ryuzaki looked pleased at those successes, but that turned out to only be a small part of what he wanted done that day.

Next, he gave Light questions to ask other strangers as a test of his information-gathering skills. None of the inquiries were very in-depth but it was hard to get a random store owner to divulge his children's birthdays. He had an easier time chatting with an older woman in a café to find out where she was born and also made small talk with a German tourist group in order to get their itinerary. The rest of the tasks were simpler and he wondered if he was having too easy a time of it based on Ryuzaki's oft-inscrutable expression.

Finally, he used Ryuzaki as a prop when they stopped for dinner. The task was to create an unbelievable story on the fly and to get someone to believe it, so he spun a sad tale to their waitress about Ryuzaki's family forgetting his birthday when he had just returned from a Peace Corps mission in Africa. Neither of them had bargained on getting a free meal out of pity but that was a testament to Light's believability; no one would ever mistake Ryuzaki for someone who liked hard work or the outdoors.

When they returned to the house, it was a relief to wipe that fake smile off his face and just relax for a while, even if he was still glowing from having to do so much work that day. It was a wondrous reprieve from more book-reading.

It still wasn't the distraction it needed to be for him to completely forgive Ryuzaki's inability to answer his questions. They worked together well enough as long as Light didn't ask about the future, but the lack of real information grated on him. He let Ryuzaki continue to avoid questions for a whole week before inquiring again.

"What cases are you working on when you aren't training me?" Light asked while sketching out an analyst's map of all the major figures in a Los Angeles gang, complete with police records.

"Minor ones, nothing exciting." Ryuzaki was using his own laptop while Light built up his network, the screen turned where Light couldn't see it.

"Tell me about them." It was a long shot but Ryuzaki might just humor him if Light kept at it.

"Light-kun is in a demanding mood today."

" _Light-kun_ is only curious what his employer is doing when he hides everything from his assistant." Light mimicked with a blank, placating look.

"I would not give you such a menial title."

"So what am I? I can't imagine you'd call me a partner at this point."

"No." Ryuzaki set his computer aside and looked off toward his cup of coffee. He dropped another sugar cube into it before he answered. "I want you to be my liaison. I want you to work with the investigators overseas that I can't meet in person."

Light stared in ill-disguised surprise. "Is that a real answer, Ryuzaki? I had grown so accustomed to half-truths from you."

"If Light-kun had any idea how much that answer cost me, he would not make light of it." Ryuzaki was only adding more sugar cubes to his tea but Light had the impression that he was offended by Light's response.

"I have another question, if you're being honest." Light clipped his laptop shut and set it aside for a moment since the truth was such a rare commodity. "Was that title, 'liaison', in my job description?"

"No. I misled you as to the job description." Ryuzaki's voice had the faintest tremor in it even if his body language suggested ease or complacence.

"Do you even need me as an investigator?" He waited, dreading what he might hear for reasons he couldn't fathom.

"Not right now." Ryuzaki's expression betrayed no guilt over hiring Light under false pretenses. "I need you for another task first. It's more important."

"Why did you lie to me?"

"I didn't. My needs changed during the year between our meetings."

"Liar." Light turned away. Ryuzaki had done nothing to indicate that he wasn't telling the truth except for the fact that he was most at ease when lying; Light was merely calling his bluff. "Dammit, Ryuzaki, you were a better teacher than that."

"I'll explain-"

"Don't." Light stood and held out a hand, forestalling any more conversation. "I don't want to hear any more half-truths.

"Except this," he said, leaning toward Ryuzaki over the arm of the sofa between them. "Who was following me?"

"A colleague of mine."

"His name?"

"Aiber."

"Is that a handle?"

"It is not my place to compromise his identity." Ryuzaki was sitting stiffly throughout this interrogation, his face blank and not even blinking at irregular intervals. No one but Light would ever know how much he hated being the one questioned.

"Thank you." Light smiled with the same half-lidded expression that he had given the car dealers and the strangers he had questioned: polite, sweet, and monstrously patronizing. "I think I'm done for today."

Light picked up his laptop, unplugging it and heading for the door in one smooth movement. It was barely three o'clock.

"Where are you going?" Ryuzaki's voice still didn't hold an ounce of concern for his treatment. Light wanted to shake him or, better yet, to punch him.

"Out. Have me followed and you won't see me for the rest of the week." Light turned back to Ryuzaki, feeling a little thrill at the kind of power he had right now. "I know you can't replace me."

He closed the door gently behind himself and strode down the hall.

* * *

Light left his phone in his room so Ryuzaki had no way to track him and took the train down to Portsmouth for a change of pace. It was far from Winchester and he hadn't visited the city before. Unless Ryuzaki persisted in having him tailed, no one would know he was here.

The wretched weather held, as it always seemed to, and he wished that he had brought an umbrella with him when it started sprinkling. Fortunately it stopped after he ducked into a bookstore for a while and it was only damp and windy the rest of the day.

He'd won their little tiff this afternoon only because Ryuzaki would never be able to train someone else if he was having so much trouble with Light. He knew that he had been complacent for the most part, willing to accept the fact that information was being withheld from him yet still willing to work with Ryuzaki. Lesser men would likely have fled from such absurd working conditions.

However, it seemed that Ryuzaki had taken Light's patience as an excuse to walk all over him. He was treating Light like a tool, some object he could use, and Light's well-being be damned.

Then again, hadn't Light _given_ him his life since he didn't know what to do with it? Hadn't he reached out to Ryuzaki because he was the only lifeline Light had?

He shivered. What had he been thinking to have such a lapse in judgment?

It was clear that Ryuzaki, or rather _L_ , had brought him here with ulterior motives. Light had burned the bridges behind him, leaving his family and the career he didn't want anymore only to find that L didn't need Light as an investigator at all. Light had wanted, _needed_ a purpose, something to give him worth.

Instead, he was a charity case.

Six thousand miles from his home, he stood alone in a strange town when no one knew where he was or how to contact him, carrying identification for a man that didn't exist.

If ever there was a time to weep, to rail at his pathetic fortune, this was it, but all he felt was cold.

* * *

Matt looked up when he heard the sound of someone coming into the solarium. It was after midnight and the only people bound to be up and about were Near or L.

Instead, he could make out Light in the doorway, faintly lit as he was by the moon's illumination, not the night light perpetually left on for night owls like himself. He hadn't done more than say hi to Light since his rather public blowup with L. L monopolized his time during the day, and Light hadn't been coming to the solarium to read like he usually did.

He was probably burnt out on L's training. Matt knew he would have been.

"Hey," he said softly. The vastness of the room made normal volume seem like shouting. He pulled his goggles down so he could see Light better; not that there was any need for it since Light had no expression to see. He was just staring off outside the windows.

"Light!"

Light flinched and looked at him as if he hadn't seen Matt before. He greeted him absently in a voice as wooden as his expression before resting against a chair on the row above Matt.

"You don't happen to have another on you, do you?"

"Fortunately for you, I do. Nintendo or Sony?" Matt gestured with the DSi he was playing, intending to give it up if necessary.

"PSP2. Tell me you have that puzzle game you mentioned last week." Light sounded like he'd just finished running a marathon: either exhausted or extremely distracted.

"It's in there. Long day?" Matt picked the PSP2 off the floor and handed it to Light.

"Not really if you count all the hours I spent at the beach." Light smiled faintly at the handheld's screen as it lit up, casting demonic shadows all over his face. "I needed a break."

"What was your fight all about?" Matt went back to playing his game as they talked since he didn't do conversations well.

Light waited. "L lying to me a lot. And having me followed."

"Uhh," Matt said, more than a little surprised by L's name as he gave Light a half-smile.

"I know who he is." Light said offhandedly. "Just don't tell him I know."

"Sure." Matt lowered the DSi to his lap, curious now. "How'd you find out?"

"That's a secret." Light sat back in the chair and started tapping buttons on the game.

Matt left him alone for a while since Light's secrets, much like L's, were none of his business. If it didn't affect his income or his living situation, he didn't care. Mello would have cared. He would have been in Light's face from dawn to dusk until he knew everything about this alien that had taken up residence here as an adult when he was obviously no orphan. Unlike every other person that Mello had antagonized with his ruthless inquisitiveness, Light could have held his own against him.

Who knows? They might even have gotten along.

What a thought.

The sound of Mario dying as he fell into a hole brought Matt back to the present. Blinking the ridiculous thoughts away, he restarted the level and tried to get back into the game while his thoughts wandered.

Light was unique; he'd been brought here as an adult for a reason. Only he had whatever skillset L had wanted desperately enough to bring a stranger into the fold. Wammy House was a pit of vipers; for all its benign appearance, many of the students would eat each other alive to get to the top of that ranking board. The competitiveness was bred into them and only a few sane ones, like himself, could avoid it.

Now Light stepped in as an adult and proved that it wasn't even necessary. He had no peers. Rather, he faced off against the worst of them, 'the great L himself', on a daily basis and hadn't lost his mind.

That was an accomplishment in and of itself. If Matt had possessed an ounce of ambition or any desire for L's title, he would only be so much shredded meat as well. Only those with ordinary ambitions survived to adulthood.

Unlike the last two to try for L's title…

"Hey, Light?" Matt heard Light's answering hum even if he didn't look away from his game. "He's not driving you insane, is he?"

"You don't think I left town for my health, did you?" Light wasn't pretending to smile this time. "We're fine. I'm just tired."

Matt shrugged, aiming for a display of nonchalance. "You know it's not forever. He'll…" _He'll what? Come to his senses? Give you free reign to do what you want?_

Matt had no idea what L was training Light for. He couldn't keep making excuses for other people's behavior when their reasons were unfathomable to him.

Matt closed his mouth, unable to spout off any more lies for Light's benefit. The ones he had told Mello hadn't done him any good. He'd still died, still left Matt alone in this rotten place.

"I don't know how much longer I'll be here."

"What?!" That was something Matt hadn't anticipated.

Light thumbed the handheld thoughtfully. "I think it's only a matter of time." He chuckled, the sound embittered rather than amused. "This isn't going to work out long term."

"What, you think we can't use you elsewhere? L's not the only person that needs an assistant." Matt dropped his console to his lap as a thought occurred to him. "Even _I_ could use another-"

"Thanks, but no thanks." Light interrupted as he stood and shut off his device. "I'm done with handouts."

"It's not out of fucking charity." Matt snapped.

Light held out the PSP2, looking bemused for a moment. "I don't want that from you, Matt. I'm not going anywhere."

Matt took back the handheld, curling it into his arm distractedly while Light bid him good night and slipped out of the room in a good imitation of Near's soundless manner of moving about.

"So what do you want?" Matt said under his breath. Light was already gone, and he wouldn't have asked Light that to his face, after all. He couldn't focus on the game anymore and set both devices aside, pulling his goggles off his eyes and rubbing circles over his temples.

Well, he'd fouled that one up.

"God... _dammit_." His fingers wound into his hair and he gripped it tightly, fighting the urge to rip it out by the roots.

He hated feeling so powerless.


	36. Intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only "intermission" because it's an attempt to get the Muses working. Please pardon the excessive dialogue and directional cues; I'm trying to finish a screenplay and I'm writing in movie mode. Also, the term Intermission is not an indicator that this story is half-done. I would not torture you for another 35 chapters! XD

L glanced at the clock on the wall the next morning. 8:15 AM. Light was seldom late.

L left his suite and headed for Light's room on the way to the kitchen. He wouldn't be surprised if Light hadn't stayed at the house last night and had chosen to room in Winchester itself. He seemed fond of finding his own territory after their interactions went sour.

However, Light's phone continued to indicate that it was in his bedroom and it hadn't moved for over 12 hours.

L hadn't allowed himself to watch for Light's return like an anxious housewife; Light was an intelligent adult and was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

L also did not allow himself the luxury of thinking that he was in any way innocent regarding Light's departure. This was exactly the outcome he had predicted, but there wasn't any other way to avoid it. L couldn't just come right out and say who he was; his secret protected his reputation as well as his connections to his other personae.

He had to give the information to Light a little at a time to sate his curiosity but it appeared that he had angered his volatile companion yet again.

There was no answer to his knock on Light's door, so L picked the lock and opened the door quietly. The bed was still made, the phone lying exposed on the covers in an unexpectedly dark room. Unsure why he had actually invaded Light's space so soon after a fight, he pulled the door shut.

What if he _had_ been in there?

L shook off his apprehensions and continued back down the hall. There was still a slight possibility that Light was in the kitchen, entertaining himself with far more interesting diversions than more of L's drudgery.

Instead, he only found Near, who spared him a glance between fitting pieces of another puzzle together.

"He didn't come down." Near said, his eyes back on his work. "He hasn't been, lately."

L shifted to lean against the counter, debating getting any tea or coffee for himself.

"Have you thought about it?" Near asked while picking up a blank puzzle piece and studying it. His query was a likely reference to their less-than-amiable conversation last Friday.

"I have." L stepped away from the counter, unwilling to be questioned when he could be doing something in the meantime. He poured himself a pot of hot water and fished in the cupboard for some tea leaves. "I don't know the proper approach to take with him anymore."

"You have to change something," Near took another piece of the puzzle and tried forcibly to make it fit with the one he had, only bending the edges of both pieces and making the paper separate. "Because neither of you are accomplishing anything right now."

"I know that." L didn't have the energy to be offended at advice given by someone a decade younger than him. Near's demeanor made his approach far less offensive than others' lectures had been.

Near dropped the second abused piece that he had picked up, and it hit the tabletop with a soft _tick_.

"You're trying to change him," he picked up a new piece, seemingly identical to all the others, "when it's you that has to change."

The pieces fit perfectly, and Near passed them to L without looking away from the table. L spared the pieces a glance; the new one looked especially nice next to the warped piece's frayed edges. He wondered which of them signified himself.

"He gets along better with everyone else." L smirked, an unusual expression for him. "I don't need to be his friend _and_ his employer."

"I know it's hard." Near said softly, ignoring the torn piece that looked forlorn sitting on the edge of the table.

L set down the pieces that Near had given him and left with the pot of tea.

* * *

The sound of the exterior door opening woke Light from his doze. Yawning, he stood up and stretched to work out the kinks in his spine from his uncomfortable sleeping arrangements.

He pushed the wheeled chair back under the desk with one foot and finger-combed his hair before the person made it into the main office. It was bad enough that he was still wearing the clothes he had worn yesterday; the least he could do was look like he had planned to be here. He bent over the keyboard and typed a random string of letters, which woke the monitor out of its sleep state and made him look vaguely productive given that his spreadsheets from last night were still up.

"Light?" Roger's surprised address made him turn around.

Light greeted him and went back to studying the screen while looking thoughtful.

"Ryuzaki has you working in here today too?"

"Not really. I'm doing some work on a side project of mine before we start anything." Roger checked his watch and Light belatedly checked the computer's time; it was after 9 o'clock. _Oops._ "We're starting later today."

"I don't try to follow his schedule anymore." Roger smiled sheepishly and vanished into another room in the back. His voice carried out the door. "I'll be doing some maintenance back here in case Matt wonders why I'm in his space."

"I'll tell him if I see him." Light grimaced and logged off before heading out of the building.

He didn't want to be here when Matt arrived for work in another hour or so. Too much awkwardness in too little time; he didn't feel like trying to play the right role in all of his relationships. He just wanted everyone out of his face until he figured out… whatever the hell he was doing here.

The sound of Matt's voice ended whatever fantasies he had entertained of escaping unnoticed. What was Matt doing awake so early?

Light smiled to cover up his chagrin and looked up from his contemplation of the rain-dampened lawn. Matt was fighting to light a cigarette in the humid air as he walked toward Light and his office.

"Salutations," he said, using Matt's greeting in an effort to be lighthearted and encourage Matt to forget their last weighty conversation. "You're here early."

"Didn't sleep well. I figured I'd get an early start." Matt eyed Light's outfit as he replied and Light cursed soundly in his head.

"So did I. I just decided to start last night."

"Are you skipping work today?" Matt stopped a little ways from Light and blew a smoke ring with his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

Light stopped in his tracks, surprising himself by actually considering it. "Hardly. I'm just taking my time getting started."

"You argued again yesterday, right?" There was no need to ask to whom Matt referred.

"Of course. I'm starting to think that's normal for us."

Matt's eyes grew distant as he stared off over Light's head. "Mello and I fought a lot when we were young too." He rolled his shoulders suddenly in mock-horror as his eyes refocused. "Not that there's any comparison. L's just an ass."

Light shushed him and looked around. "Don't say that name. I want to see how long he carries out this charade."

As if to mock him, Light noticed a curtain drop back into place in one of the distant house's many windows. Given its position, it was likely Ryuzaki's room.

"I think I've been spotted."

Matt glanced back at the house, the smoke forming a crescent around his head as he turned. "Probably. He's been asking around as to where you were."

"He's lost without my phone to track me, isn't he?" Light scoffed. "It's his leash, just like his watchdog Aiber is his eyes when he's not around."

Despite his flippant tone, Light was actually surprised that Ryuzaki was looking for him so soon. Then again, Light was a monetary investment and their last conversation had gone badly; he probably just wanted to ensure that his goods hadn't wandered off.

Matt snickered and Light turned to look at him, hoping his sarcasm would go unremarked upon.

"You have no idea, Light." Matt bit down on his cigarette and started walking toward the office. "You give Ryuzaki entirely too much credit. He probably has your room and all your clothes bugged."

Light's expression withered and he unconsciously stared down at his coat, as if the trackers would be stuck where he could see them.

"I'm kidding about your clothes." Matt smiled humorlessly over his shoulder. "But not about his paranoia." He nodded for Light to join him. "Most of us are like that, though. You will be too if you stay here."

Light glanced at the house, debating for a moment, before turning and following Matt. He had noticed Matt didn't retract his comment that Light's room was under surveillance.

"What'll it be? Movies or games?" Matt dropped his cigarette in an urn outside the office door. "Surely you've earned some vacation time by now."

"There's been no mention of my earning anything other than money."

"Well, you should have it." Matt's expression grew unexpectedly wintry when he ascended the steps ahead of Light. "Blow him off. You deserve a break." He turned away to open the door.

"I'm not sure I want one. A break, I mean." That would just be more down time between useful lessons, more time wasted in pursuits that got him nowhere.

"Then do it to put him in his place. Don't let him make all the decisions."

"He's my employer." Light winced; it sounded almost like he was defending Ryuzaki's right to be a tyrannical bastard. "He hired me to—"

"And _you're_ not expendable." Matt jerked the door open with unnecessary force and nearly elbowed Light in the face given his lower position on the stairs. Light stepped back before Matt accidentally broke his nose.

" _Take a day off, Light."_ Matt wasn't looking at him when he ducked inside, but his emphatic tone was clear, almost like an order.

Light took a final look at the house to make sure Ryuzaki hadn't materialized before stepping into Matt's workspace. Maybe one of his tenuous connections was worth salvaging.


	37. Malevolent

Matt's phone rang around 11 o'clock. He hit a switch on the earpiece he was wearing so he wouldn't have to take his hands off his controller for long.

Light took advantage of the momentary distraction to get ahead of him in Mario Kart, smirking when whoever called Matt got a string of curses as a greeting.

"Yeah," Matt said distractedly, leaning forward as if that would make his car go faster. "He's here."

Light frowned when it became apparent who was calling. Ryuzaki was checking up on him without bothering to come out in the drizzle to see him in person.

"You have a message for him or something?"

Light hit pause and leaned back against his office chair so he could watch Matt's expression. Hearing one-sided conversations about himself was always unpleasant.

"Oh." Matt's eyebrows rose under his goggles. "Okay. Bye."

Matt switched off the call and took the game off pause.

Light waited for him to say something, anything, but Matt paid no attention to him, only leaning around corners and cursing whenever he ran into giant ducks or banana peels.

"Did Ryuzaki have anything for me?" Light finally asked when he crossed the finish line only a hair ahead of Matt.

"No. He just asked where you were."

Light reluctantly set the controller aside and put his head back on the chair.

"I should probably go back."

"Why? He said you could have the rest of the day off if you wanted it."

Light frowned; that would have constituted a "message" for him, but apparently Matt had already assumed that he would take the entire day off.

"I have weekends off. I don't need to be taking weekdays too."

"But don't you see?" Matt fiddled with the video game as he spoke. "This is a victory for you."

"There is no victor in this game we're playing." Light sat up and rubbed at his neck. He was tired of yesterday's clothes; he did need to go back to the house. "It's a stalemate."

"Not if you don't let him walk all over you."

"What do you have against... L?" Light tried to recall if Roger had left the building before using Ryuzaki's real name.

Light had been wondering this for a while, but today Matt's behavior seemed more antagonistic than flippant toward the older man.

"Against L? Nothing personally." Matt looked away from the television in what appeared to be surprise but was probably feigned. "Well, almost nothing. I don't like how he treats people but that doesn't really bother me since we don't work together."

Light wondered if Matt knew he was lying to himself or if he had been doing it so long that he now believed it.

Matt picked up the remote and started scrolling through the cable television channels after shutting off the Wii.

"You know how he was there when Mello died?"

Light's ears perked up and he sat up a little straighter. "I remember you telling me that."

"Right." Matt waited again before speaking. "Well, it doesn't make sense. Mello and L were rivals, not friends, and L never told me why they were together that day."

Matt tapped the fingers of one hand on the remote. "I think he doesn't want to say what happened, not that he lost his memory for good. _That_ is why I have issues with L. We're all liars here but you don't withhold things like that from friends."

Light knew all too well that their very existence seemed to be built around an ever-increasing series of lies. False names, fake identities, counterintelligence, secrecy, misdirection… Fortunately he was having less and less of a problem with it. Otherwise, he would probably go mad here.

"Why were they rivals?"

"We all are, or were. How much do you know about L?"

"My father said he was a great international detective but no one knew who he really was."

"Your _father?_ "

"He's a police chief. He worked with Watari and L before without knowing anything about them other than their titles. He figured out who L was." Light waved a hand in dismissal; these details were irrelevant. "That's all I really know."

Matt hummed in response to the information for a second. "I probably shouldn't say much else but we're all supposed to become like that. Detectives, investigators, all-around-geniuses, I suppose. L was just the first and he's the example of 'perfection' that we all had to grow up with."

"Mello didn't like that, did he?" Light tried to direct the conversation back to this mystery person that he heard so little about.

"No, and can you see why?" Matt leaned forward, the television ignored. "L wouldn't _leave_ so Mello couldn't ever do anything worthwhile since he was always in L's shadow. There's no glory in being the best when the prototype is still around to make you look like just another wannabe. At least, I think that was his problem."

Matt looked down for a moment and picked at a seam in his jeans, but when he lifted his head, his expression was forcibly cheerful. "He didn't talk to me as much at the end."

Light waited to see if anything else was forthcoming as the silence stretched out uncomfortably. "I'm sorry for asking questions."

"Don't worry about it." Matt shrugged. "I got it out of my system."

"Well, I think I need to go eat something." He really meant that he wanted to go take a shower and change his clothes, but that was an unnecessary detail.

"You going to go back to L for the day?"

"I think so. It was nice just to have the break this morning."

"Don't let him order you around, Light. You deserve better than that."

Light paused as he adjusted his wrinkled collar. Matt wasn't looking at him anymore and was resolutely clicking through the channels. He smiled faintly; no one knew how to communicate effectively at this house, but it was almost endearing at this point.

He was nearly out the door before Matt's final query came to him.

"When are you going to tell him that you know who he is?"

"I don't know yet." Light grinned at Matt's amused expression. "I rather like having my own secrets."

Matt waved at him as he left the building.

* * *

"Perhaps Light should look into getting his own place."

Wammy attempted to be nonchalant about dropping that suggestion in the midst of one of his and L's profound busy silences. They were working out of the suite next to L's, the main room of which was actually gutted to serve as a communications center with a server and too many computer screens. It was a miniature version of Matt's cave behind the house. The room was continually dark and oppressive with the only glare from the screens to light it, but L liked it that way so he didn't argue with him.

"Why?" L asked immediately, glancing up from his work in what constituted surprise for him. "All the resources he needs are here, and there's no reason to make him drive here every day."

"What does he do whenever you two argue?" Wammy paused for effect. "He leaves. He feels trapped living here with us."

"I don't..." L frowned fiercely in a shocking display of emotion. "I don't want to let him go just yet."

"Why are you so worried? He's not going to return to Japan." Wammy adjusted the small light over his desk so he could see his book better while L remained shrouded in blue-white gloom.

"It's not Japan I worry about. I don't trust him on his own."

"So how do you plan to ever work with him if you can't trust him?" Wammy was deliberately misinterpreting L's words to get L to talk about his and Light's unstable relationship. L would only speak to correct misconceptions when he was in one of his moods.

The fact that he had asked Wammy to join him instead of working with Light was a definite sign that L's plans had gone awry.

Again.

"Not that kind of trust." L finally took his hands off the keyboard and picked up his box of Panda cookies instead. "I don't trust him... not to do anything foolish."

Wammy sat back, satisfied. "But you think keeping him under surveillance is going to help."

L's silence was a definite negative.

"Do you think he's suicidal?"

L shook his head slowly as he crunched through a tiny cookie, his eyes focused on something that didn't exist.

"So why do you think he won't do well on his own?"

"He'll stop taking care of himself again." L peeked at Wammy through his hair momentarily. "He's not better, he's not 'fixed'. Remember what he looked like when he arrived? At least now he's eating and he's around people all the time."

"So what do you think we should do? He doesn't like it here but you think he'll do worse on his own."

" _I'm not a psychiatrist!"_ L snapped as he slammed the half-empty box into the keyboard.

Wammy jumped and dropped the book he had been holding at the sudden noise.

L _never_ raised his voice.

Between one breath and the next, L regained control of his breathing and picked the fallen box off the floor. He inspected the inside and removed a broken cookie with a faint look of consternation.

If only Wammy could get his heart to stop racing as easily. Sometimes he wondered if he'd created a machine rather than a detective.

"As I was saying, I'm an investigator, not a doctor. I didn't think hiring him would entail having to put him back together." L put the cookie in his mouth and set the rest back down. He pulled his feet up into the chair and curled around his knees while he chewed.

"I'm doing the only thing I know how to do but it's not working. My own work has become secondary to trying to figure out how to work with him." L looked over at Watari, his eyes showing the anger that his expression wouldn't.

"I am _failing_ with him in every way."

Wammy could only imagine what it had cost L to admit that.

"Give it a little more time. You've only been together, what, two months?"

"I'm starting to think two years won't be enough. You were right; it isn't possible for any of us to work together."

"I meant Mello back then. He wanted to be in charge of himself so, no, you two would never have worked out." Wammy briefly considered the oddity of convincing L of the validity of his own argument to hire Light. "Light is different. He's not going to end up like Mello did."

"How would you know?" L bit out. "You didn't hear the things he said."

"Which one?"

"Mello." L physically wiped his disgusted expression clear. It was unnerving to watch, how cleanly he shunted all of his emotions aside. He and Wammy had never had an argument in which he lost control of his emotions, twice no less. Not since L was a child.

"Mello wanted me dead. He said as much at the end, that they were all waiting for me to die so they could take over." L affected a laugh. "Mello just tried to make it happen."

" _What?"_ Wammy choked out.

"I don't think he planned it, but he tried to take advantage of a bad situation."

L's hands trembled slightly from where they rested on the tabletop, but that was nothing compared to Wammy's shortness of breath.

"But I thought... The amnesia, it was only temporary?"

L nodded. "I remembered the rest before I left the hospital." He stopped tapping his fingers and stared off across the room.

"What did he do? The police said it was... an accident." Why couldn't he catch his breath?

"It was. Something made the lorry ahead of us swerve into our lane."

"Another wreck on the bridge ahead of you, around the curve. I saw it when I got there." Wammy regretted interrupting the narrative but L continued as if he hadn't said anything.

"Mello was already speeding and..." L paused and tilted his head calmly as if he wasn't talking about a homicide attempt. "He knew we couldn't stop in time, so he turned and tried to take the collision on my side."

"You can't know that. He-" Wammy grimaced. This wasn't possible! No child that he had raised would even consider such a thing. It wasn't… It couldn't be true.

"He looked at me before he swerved." L smiled, and nothing had ever looked so perversely out of place. "Plus his last words were about my death anyway.

"We hit the back of the lorry at an angle. I went through the windshield and apparently barely cleared the trailer but the car went under the truck." L studied his ragged fingernails as if relating a story from the newspaper. "It seems _not_ wearing my seat belt saved my life, but it decapitated him. I saw it when I came to on the side of the road."

"Oh God..." Wammy shuddered as L's behavior after the accident became clear. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Why would anyone need to know? It was my lesson to learn." L crossed his arms defensively and looked into the corner. "Matt didn't need to know that about his best friend, so I pretended I still didn't remember anything."

"You have a very cavalier attitude about death."

L was halfway out of his chair and facing the door behind him before Light even finished.

"Light!" Wammy said unnecessarily, coming to his feet as well. A sudden ache in his shoulder made him wince, but he couldn't focus on that right now.

The dim nature of the room had made it impossible to see that the door was open, much less that Light was leaning against the doorframe. His expression was unreadable in the darkness, but his posture belied his fury.

"What did you hear?" L hissed, his paranoia overcoming his surprise.

"I have to agree." Light continued, pointedly ignoring L as he uncrossed his arms. "You're not a psychiatrist.

"In fact, despite being the 'world's greatest detective,' you know _nothing_ about people, L."

L flinched but said nothing.

"So what am I, besides a failure? A charity case? Another lesson for you to learn and then lie about?" Light leaned forward from his slouch and stepped away from the door.

"I was not implying-"

"Shut up." L closed his mouth at Light's order, and Wammy could not have been more shocked at his complaisance. "I'm playing the investigator right now."

Light picked his way across the dark carpet, primly avoiding the crumbs on the floor until he stood well within L's personal space. L inclined his head slightly away from Light's but didn't give him any ground. Light's face was mere inches from L's and he wore an eerily relaxed expression.

"Would you chalk my suicide up to experience too if you _failed_?" He asked drily, and L scowled in response.

"Light-kun, don't-"

Light's fist connected with L's face so quickly that Wammy could only guess at what happened when L stumbled backward and nearly tripped over his chair. He clapped a hand to his mouth and nose and bent nearly double, one hand holding him steady against the desk.

Meanwhile, Light stood there, impassive and calm while he flexed his bloodied fingers.

"You were right, Mr. Wammy. It's much more effective when you aim several inches beyond their heads."

Light cocked his head in a creepy parody of L's occasional manner of listening, his eyes fixed on L. "You cut me. Did I knock out any teeth?"

L lifted his head, his eyes livid and blood seeping between his fingers as he glared silently at Light. Wammy took the few steps toward L and reached out to offer his handkerchief, but his fingers were going numb and he dropped it.

Light picked up the scrap of cloth and pressed it into L's free hand with both of his.

That did it. L lunged toward Light with a snarl and Wammy only barely managed to get in the way as Light took a calm step backward.

"Temper, temper," Light chided with a faint smile as Wammy fought to control L. "Who would know the great L was such a terrible loser?" His expression darkened as he stared into L's eyes. "I knew this was a mistake from the start too."

Light turned away from L, who had allowed his arms to be trapped at his sides. Wammy knew that L could have broken free if he really wanted it.

"Let's just end this charade." Light said enigmatically over his shoulder before leaving the room and closing the door.

"L..." Wammy gasped as he let go of L so he could press his fingers against the pain that had crept into his chest.

L sniffed and wiped at his streaming eyes with a hand slick with blood. There was more running from his nose and dribbling from his cut lip. "He broke my nose." He said in a strangely forlorn tone. Then, horribly and inexplicably, he started crying.

Wammy could only stare in shock. Too much was happening at once.

Then he was lying on the floor, his hand still pressing weakly against the shooting pain in his shoulder, and he knew something was really wrong.

L fell to his knees beside him, the sobs only making it harder to hear him. "Mr. Wammy? What's wrong?"

But Wammy was past being able to speak.


	38. Visceral

Light's eavesdropping was enough of a shock for one day, but the look of fury on his face was completely unexpected. Light had only ever been irritated, bored, or mildly amused in L's presence; he hadn't thought Light capable of something as strong as rage.

The analytical side of him thought "Excellent, he's getting better at expressing himself," while the other half internally cringed away from Light's increasing proximity. The hair rose on the back of his neck while he fought to hold his ground. It was a fear response, as if a venomous snake was coming toward him rather than a disillusioned genius.

Light stopped just before colliding with L, so close that L had to lean back or risk bumping heads with him. It brought him out of his perpetual slouch and raised him to eye-level with Light, which didn't improve matters at all.

All sorts of hitherto unnecessary observations about Light made themselves impossible to ignore at close range, like the fact that pieces of his hair tangled with his eyelashes when he blinked. Spicy-sweet notes of sandalwood and tea warmed with body heat made L wish that he could bury his face in that silken hair. Light's gold-flecked eyes raked L from head to foot, and every nuance of Light's expression as his anger hardened into frosty disdain transfixed L. The eerily sensuous appraisal found L sorely lacking, but his pride was slow to respond in the wake of this unfamiliar distraction.

Cold prickled along his skin like the punctures of thorns, and he tried not to shiver at the pain since Light could not fail to miss his discomfiture at this range. His head swam with simultaneous appreciation and terror at the ease with which Light had captivated him.

Everything was _wrong_. He had _no_ control over himself. L's emotions had ricocheted from anxiety at Light's appearance to surprise when this forceful persona surfaced; now he was fighting… something he had no courage to name.

 _Who_ are _you? I don't know you anymore…_

Then Light was talking, and L had to tear his gaze from that perfect mouth lest he do unspeakable things to it. Even so, he couldn't completely ignore the feel of Light's breath on his skin.

"Would you chalk my suicide up to experience too if you failed?"

_What?_

That jarring statement brought the room back into focus, and L had to remember to start breathing again before he grew any more lightheaded. His muscles were a riot of invisible tremors and his skin was tingling fiercely. He inhaled and forced himself to banish the sensations before he made a fool of himself.

He had barely opened his mouth to contradict Light when something snapped in Light's gaze. L was so distracted by his face that he didn't notice Light shifting his stance until far too late.

An explosion of noise and pressure went off in front of him, and his ears rang as he fell back, stunned. The initial surprise kept him from feeling the pain right away. There was only room for indignation when he felt warmth spilling down his face. How _dare_ Light lay a hand on him?

As whatever hold Light had established over him disintegrated, a great many new and useless things occurred to him.

One, getting punched in the face hurt like hell. The pain was a fireball, setting his nerves aflame and making his eyes go out of focus.

Two, Light Yagami had more of a backbone than L had foreseen. Light was fonder of cutting statements and well-timed absences; even though L had seen Light's performance with his self-defense trainer, he hadn't thought Light would resort to violence. He hid fangs behind that passive, apathetic exterior.

Three, he had vastly underestimated Light's ability to manipulate him. He had known Light would turn his interrogation tactics against him, but this? L had _not_ taught him this. For a singular moment in time, L had _wanted_ Light to despise him if it meant that Light would look at him like that. L yearned for it as he had nothing else in his life.

His transient weakness humiliated him even as he grudgingly admitted respect for Light's skill. Light had learned his lessons well, and L had put up a poor fight in response.

Any more rumination was cut short as L realized that Light was _manhandling_ him again, forcing him to take the handkerchief as if he was too helpless to take care of himself.

Reacting viscerally to Light's condescension more than the abuse, he drew back his bloodied fist with every intent of smacking that supercilious smirk off Light's face. Unfortunately Wammy tried to get in the way, and L didn't want to hit him by accident; he was not that out of control.

The demeaning taunts that came out of Light's mouth were probably things he had been holding back for months. He fired them out like bullets. Even if L knew the accusations to be true, they didn't hurt any less, especially after Light had already laid his defenses to waste.

L winced and tried to staunch the flow of blood from his nose, not as a distraction but out of necessity, but even touching his face sent fire rocketing through his nerves until he nearly went blind.

"Let's just end this charade" was Light's parting shot, and ice trickled through L's veins as Light too calmly closed the door behind him.

L couldn't even muster the energy to be offended.

He didn't have any more plans to deal with this. They had failed one by one, and trying to cure Light's ambivalence while learning to share power was proving to be an insurmountable problem. His brilliant idea had been doomed from the start; he had wasted almost two years on this fool's errand.

He shrugged off Wammy's limp grasp and wiped errant tears out of his smarting eyes.

"He broke my nose," L said, needing desperately to laugh it off but breaking into a sob instead.

It was all too much to take in. He was already unbalanced from relating Mello's final act of betrayal.

While Wammy had warned him never to trust anyone outside Wammy House, that incident had made it clear that not even those inside were trustworthy. It didn't matter that the act was unplanned; one of his very successors had turned on him when the time was right to unseat him. Now Light too had shown a temperament that L hadn't even known he possessed. How long until Light tried to get rid of him? Even when they got along, there was always tension underneath, a sense of waiting for the next battle to finally erupt.

L had finally taken on a task beyond his ability to solve, and his past failures had cost him his security, his health, and his peace of mind. What damage would he do to Light and himself if he couldn't get them out of a predicament that _he_ had gotten them into? He was fooling with a young man who had been suicidal and was still depressed; what had he been _thinking?_

L was a detective, not a psychiatrist, not a role model, and certainly not a friend or a worthwhile employer. He had more than earned Light's desertion; he had practically asked for it.

Wammy called out his name but L couldn't respond. He couldn't even hide his tears from the older man because touching his face hurt too much.

Then Wammy collapsed, and only thing went through his head.

_Not now…_

All thoughts of Light and their argument vanished, buried as if they had never been there. He dropped to his knees and frantically inspected Wammy, all ruthless efficiency now that he had a focus. It was obviously a heart attack, but something in him refused to believe it. It wasn't possible, not right now, not on the heels of so many other things.

His vision was blurred, and there was blood in his mouth, on his hands, and now all over Wammy, but he couldn't do anything about that. He scrubbed his sleeve across his eyes to dry them.

He didn't know what he was saying but Wammy didn't respond to his questions. The older man's eyes grew faraway and glassy in only a few seconds, and his hand slipped from his chest to lie limp at his side.

L ripped his mobile from one pocket and called the emergency medical hotline while checking Wammy's pulse with his other hand. Wammy's heartbeat was erratic and his breathing was slowing.

He didn't give the emergency responder any time to speak, spitting out Wammy House's address the moment he heard someone pick up. He answered whatever questions were asked of him with half an ear; Wammy was dying and he couldn't spare a thought for their questions.

Trying to quell whatever emotional reactions might distract him, he called Roger next and jammed the phone against his shoulder. He needed his hands free to do chest compressions.

"Quillish is having a heart attack. Get up to my office right now." He bit out when Roger picked up.

A startled cry and something crashing on Roger's end was the only response he had for a moment.

"You already called the ambulance?" Roger finally answered, breathless since he was probably running as quickly as he could.

"Yes. Help me with CPR." L dropped the phone and refocused on keeping the oxygen circulating in Wammy's blood, checking constantly to see if he needed to do rescue breathing.

As Wammy's face grew pale and his eyes fell shut, L felt something inside himself break, a sliver lodging in his heart as he began to panic.

"Not yet, please don't go yet." He pleaded, redoubling his efforts.

"I'm not ready," he whispered just as Roger burst through the door.

* * *

Light was ready to do something besides take another minute of L's and his idiocy.

His knuckle stung from where he had split the skin against L's teeth. The blood mingling with his own disgusted him even if giving L what he deserved was worth a few blood-borne pathogens.

His long-legged stride took him down two corridors in less than a minute. Though at first his breath had rushed in and out like a bellows as he tried to contain his fury, in a surprisingly short time the indignation bled away.

It was time to take action; he had wasted enough effort on this pointless endeavor. Paused at the top of the stairs, he briefly considered this inevitable conclusion of their tempestuous relationship.

For so long he had been waiting for an honest fight, an open confrontation rather than this back-and-forth sniping that only wore down their patience. It hadn't been much of a confrontation given its brevity, but Light had said everything he needed to and he didn't care to hear L's responses.

It had been both a rush and a disappointment. Even though he had never actually had an argument before, he had always assumed that he would be a paragon of maturity and reason. Violence was distasteful and he had always preferred the idea of using dialogue to defuse conflicts.

If that was true, then why did it feel so good to abandon logic and just hit him? Was it because L had excuses to deflect any responsibility and he seldom actually listened to Light? L had tried twice just to shush him, as if L knew any better than he did.

Did the violence sate some primal need to dominate L in whatever capacity? Did he just need to spill his blood?

Seeing L bent over with blood running through his fingers and wounded fury in his eyes had filled him with a malevolent glee. In fact, he would gladly do it all over again.

Shaking his head to clear it, Light started heading down the stairs. He blamed his uncharacteristic sadism on the lack of decent sleep yesterday and the fact that he hadn't eaten anything all morning. He was woefully out of sorts; a short fuse was only to be expected.

Additionally, he blamed L. The man had callously dismissed Light's entire being and had insulted him in every possible way by implying that there was nothing he could do with Light. From the sound of things, he was close to just giving up and sending Light back to Japan.

But there was nothing for him back in Japan, just like there was nothing for him here any longer.

He had been delusional to think coming here would change anything. The man behind the prestigious title of L was a wreck; his past and his demons disqualified him to help anyone else. Light would have been better off asking his _sister_ to give him a reason to live.

As he approached his wing for the last time, the sterility of it truly struck him. It was beautiful and stately but cold. The doors lining the hall were all locked, shutting out people who were supposed to be friends, or at least trustworthy coworkers. These rooms were their capsules, their worlds within worlds where no one could touch them.

What had made him think he could fit in here? Why had he wanted to?

He was just so _tired._

His key found its way into the lock and his feet into his room without his direction. He didn't even kick off his shoes before sitting on the bed and massaging his temples, wishing he could just sleep for a few hours and hope his equilibrium returned.

He really didn't want to fall asleep here again. It wasn't like he would wake up to anything different.

His body was slow to follow what his mind had already decided. He pulled himself off the bed and smoothed the comforter before getting his suitcase out of the closet. Shirts and pants from the closet were folded and put neatly away before he started on the chest of drawers.

He stopped packing them away before he reached the bottom. They were just a red herring, anyway.

The bathroom was still humid and warm from his last shower when he walked in, and he cast a glance around the small space. Unlike the bedroom, this area actually looked lived in. He wondered what would happen to the things he left behind; maybe someone else liked his cologne so it wouldn't be a total waste.

He searched for the aspirin behind the mirror and shook several doses' worth into his hand without overdoing it. Eight or nine should do the trick. It wasn't like he wanted to poison himself.

Forgoing the suitcase, he paused at his desk. He withdrew his wallet and took out his own identification and credit cards and laid them beside the lamp. Odd that it should occur to him right now, but Sayu had given him a gift before he left. It was only right that he should return the favor. He scribbled a quick note and left it on top of his ID cards.

Without wasting any more time, he picked up his keys, closed the door and locked the room behind him.

There seemed to be a bit more noise than usual coming from the first floor stairwell. Checking his watch, Light realized that it was merely lunchtime and the children were probably milling around the dining hall. He slipped quietly down the stairs, avoiding the hubbub in the dining areas. He stopped briefly in the strangely empty kitchen on his way out the door.

Outside it was no longer raining, but the clouds hung heavy and low in the sky, casting a dreary pall and painting everything in shades of gray. Light had long since despaired of seeing a sunny day here. He took the sidewalk to the carport to avoid ruining his shoes by squelching through the wet grass.

The faint sound of faraway sirens made him pause for a moment. He was used to hearing them all the time when he was still in Tokyo, but it seemed more out of place in this tranquility. He shrugged it off and kept going.

When he sat down inside his car, he felt immeasurably better. Driving had always given him an unparalleled sense of freedom, and even the low rumble of the engine as he started it was enough to relieve his anxieties. If only the feeling had lasted forever.

He didn't look back as he drove away.

The back roads disappeared under his tires and he drove on autopilot through the winding roads on Winchester's outskirts. When he caught sight of a particular store that he had never looked twice at, he decided to stop since it might prove to be useful. He ducked into the shop and emerged a few minutes later with a fifth of vodka. It was one of the most expensive bottles on the shelf, so hopefully it tasted better than rubbing alcohol and urine.

He started driving again, unsure of exactly what he was looking for until a river caught his eye. It didn't matter which one it was; it was a river with a large park and plenty of trees overhanging the water. There were picnic tables that probably saw a lot of use in summer, but on a rainy day in spring? The whole area was deserted.

He parked the car half-under the trees, away from the road and gazed out over the rippling water for a few minutes. It was quiet and peaceful here and no one was likely to bother him. It was as close to ideal as he could get without trying to break into the armory behind Wammy House.

He shut off the car and set the keys on the seat beside him. He ran his hands over the leather-wrapped steering wheel a final time. This was a beautiful car; it really was a shame.

He started unbuttoning his sleeves before he stopped, hooked a finger inside the cuff and simply snapped the two tiny buttons. He could hear them ping off the dashboard and opposite window while he popped the two on the other side in a similar manner. The watch his father had given him was unclasped next and deposited with equal irreverence beside the car keys.

He glanced at the label on the vodka, decided that he didn't really care what recommended it, and unscrewed the top. He plugged his nose and took several long swallows. It didn't taste as terrible as he'd imagined, but it was deceptively smooth with a slow burning finish that stung his mouth.

Trying not to gag, he recapped it and set the half-full bottle aside. He didn't want to be drunk, but he didn't want to be entirely sober for the next part. This hadn't been his first choice; well, it hadn't been any choice, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Not that he was desperate, but the sentiment fit.

Then he picked up the tiny paring knife, pressed it into the crook of his left elbow, braced himself, and pulled.


	39. Death

Not an hour later, wire-reinforced glass barred L's way, blurring the figures who darted back and forth like bees. Their words were reduced to buzzing noise.

All that broke through that drone was a whine that might only have been ringing in his ears, so subtly invasive that he never noticed it stealing upon him. It grew louder the longer he stared at the figure lying on that white-draped bed.

It wasn't fair, none of it.

L's death was a given. All the dead boys from his youth were rejects, discards from a program that only existed because L might die before researchers figured out how to create more of him.

Now that L had very nearly fulfilled the contingency plan in case of his untimely demise...

_Wammy_ was snatched away from him instead.

It wasn't _fair_ , not when L had been waiting for so long.

Had Wammy died thinking that his prized experiment had failed because L was no longer superhuman? Or had he been secretly pleased?

What had been the last thing that Wammy's eyes saw before they closed forever? His prodigy, his greatest success breaking down because some _nobody_ had cut L like a knife?

L had heard worse than Light's accusations from convicts he had put on death row. They had threatened his life in explicit detail from behind bars or railed at him over phone lines. They were murderers, molesters, and kidnappers.

What was Light compared to that?

He was _nothing_ , a mere pet project that wasn't working.

L sniffed and immediately regretted it when he tasted blood and salt. He kept forgetting about that. He lifted a hand to his face to see if his nose was still bleeding.

Instead, he focused on how the rusty tracks on his palm threw his broken life line into sharp relief.

It wasn't fair.

Slowly, deliberately he drew his hand inside his blood-flecked sleeve to wipe the window clean of his fingerprints.

Someone in green scrubs coalesced out of the blur around L before he finished and stopped at L's side. His shoulders were slumped in apology. He was saying something, but it took L some time to turn the sounds into words.

"We did all we could." The man finished as he pulled off his gloves. One caught and ripped, peeling off his hand like flesh, and L fixed his gaze on that rather than the man's face. In isolation, the man's words had no meaning for him to ponder, nothing that would make the pain in his skull worse.

"I see," L said unnecessarily. He was trained for this, able to shunt his emotions aside so they didn't interfere with his work. He visualized crumpling them up, breaking them and sweeping them away, burying them under 15 feet of earth, things that had always worked in the past.

Except now, it felt like it wasn't necessary or appropriate.

* * *

The first cuts were easy.

The slender blade parted the flesh at his elbow crease like an orange rind; the edges of the wound curled under, revealing wetly gleaming fruit.

Light mechanically repositioned the knife and made a perpendicular incision all the way to his wrist. For good measure, he cut through the paper-thin skin that he found there, slicing through the blue and purple threads of blood vessels.

There was no pain at first, only a warm tingle and the beginning of an itch, like a glass cut. As the first drops of blood began to creep so sleepily over his skin, he realized that the slices were too fine, far too shallow. He needed to make more. Many more.

The cuts that followed were not as simple.

Drawing lines across a creamy map of smooth, unmarked flesh was nothing like the stomach-twisting sawing necessary to reach the larger vessels buried between his bones. The knife snagged on bone and tough muscle alike as he dug the trenches deeper before the ripping pain stopped him.

The warm tingle blossomed into an inferno, and he writhed, unable to escape the burning. The fingers on his left hand cramped, seized into claws that he couldn't bend or move anymore. His lungs hitched; his jaw locked open on a scream that he had no air to let escape.

A ribbon of fat and greasy muscle lay exposed inside his arm. No matter how he fought it, he could not take his eyes from that utter wrongness: the blood that was so _so_ red, bright like melted crayons.

He needed to start on the other arm. He was close to passing out; thunder roared in his ears and his vision was going patchy. With a wrenching effort, he blinked away the fog from both nausea and alcohol and passed the knife to his other hand. The clawed fingers resisted. He tried to bend them around the handle with his other hand, but they sprang back into twisted shapes as soon as he let go of them, refusing to grip the blade.

If he couldn't finish with his right arm, he might survive, might be cursed to endure more of this vile pity, the disgusting emptiness and purposeless drifting.

Bile rose in his throat at the stink of life and all its trappings, the iron tang of blood and raw flesh. He jammed the knife blade up between his knees, trapped his arm between the sharp point and the steering wheel, and yanked the arm free.

His world went screaming into darkness before his head even thumped against the steering wheel.

* * *

L turned from the doctor and all but fled to the elevator. He had to get away before they came after him with questions about organ donation, wills, anything at all.

He barely made it into an elevator as it was closing, and he fixed his eyes on the floor. He willed patients and hospital staff alike not to see his exposed, undisguised face. All the security cameras could see him, and the people around him were probably making all sorts of assumptions about his messy hair and the obvious signs of a fight on his face.

His thoughts were such a mess right now.

The walk to the main doors was a blur but suddenly he was outside under that steel gray sky. Only then did he realize that he had no car, no chauffeur to take him anywhere. He wasn't even wearing shoes.

He was trapped.

Something in his pocket trembled, waking him from his numb contemplation of the parking lot. With agonizing slowness, he pulled out his mobile and tried to decipher the markings on the screen. What were all these missed calls and voicemails?

Even now, it vibrated again while he was holding it. "Roger?" He asked immediately as soon as the caller ID popped up.

"Where are you? We haven't been able to reach you."

"I'm at the hospital. There's no signal inside." L was dimly aware of the words coming out, but he didn't have conscious control over them. He was going on autopilot right now.

"I just got here. Is that you outside the doors?"

L caught sight of Roger's car as it pulled into the lot. He responded with a simple "yes" and disconnected, suddenly tired of the phone and all those messages waiting for him. They were probably all from Roger anyway.

"Is he stable?" Roger asked as he huffed his way up the steps, probably tired of all the running that L had made him do today.

L couldn't answer. What words should he use? How could anyone expect him to speak about it so soon afterward? Roger's face fell at L's silence, and the truth dawned in his gleaming eyes. L looked away from the naked emotion there.

"No." Roger's voice was only a whisper. "Is it true?"

L could only nod and continue to stare out into the parking lot as a soft rain began to fall. The damp only made the perpetual chill in the air worse, and L hunched against it.

Roger said something more under his breath and pressed a fist to his mouth, his eyes squeezing tightly shut for long moments. When L shifted in discomfort, the motion seemed to draw Roger out of his stupor. His eyes opened but his hand remained in front of his face while he drew a deep breath and sighed.

"Lucian's gone."

L's gaze darted back to Roger at the non sequitur, his expression perilously close to showing surprise.

_...Gone?_

The older man read the questions that didn't show on L's face.

"I called you about it on the way. Matt looked for him a while after the ambulance left." Roger looked out at the rain and edged further under the overhang in front of the doors, stalling. "His car is gone, but he left a half-full suitcase, his real license and credit cards… and a note."

"A note?" L snapped, disbelieving. _What the hell is Light doing?_

Following swiftly on the heels of his anger, a chill raised goosebumps on his arms; his stomach was full of writhing centipedes.

"It was about someone named Sayu Yagami. He asked that all of his money be put in a trust fund for her without telling her anything."

L had his mobile out while Roger was still speaking. His heartbeat thrummed unexpectedly in his ears.

"He's not answering," Roger said before L could finish dialing. "But they do have a vague location on his phone. It might be with him."

_"They?"_ What was that strangled noise? Was that his voice?

"Matt and Near. I think Near's using the surveillance equipment and Matt's driving."

L's hands froze while he recalculated. The dial tone sounded in his ear before he called Near's mobile. Busy signal.

"Take my car." Roger held out his keys.

L didn't even stay long enough to thank him, already busy trying to reach Matt instead as he skidded down the damp steps. As soon as he heard someone pick up, he bit out, "Track the car."

"What the hell are you going on about?" Matt's voice was high, almost shrill. There was a lot of static in the background, as if he was driving or in a rainstorm. Or both, as the rain started to come down harder with audible thumps against Roger's windows.

"Use the serial number on the tracker so you can find his car. It will give you a better location." He dangled the phone beside his ear per usual, ignoring the rain as he darted inside and started Roger's car. It was then that he realized the necessity of shifting would force him to hold it, to squeeze it between his ear and shoulder. He grimaced at thoughts of germs and things in his ears but banished the fears abruptly.

Something else was more important right now.

"Write this down."

"Near! Copy this number." Matt yelled and L heard a faint reply over the roar in the background.

L rattled off the serial number. "Give me the location as soon as you get it."

He watched the windows fog with his breath, half-listening to Matt's end of the conversation. It sounded like they were discussing something wrong with the equipment.

Near was still talking when Matt's voice came again. "What did you do now, you piece of shit?"

"I don't know what you mean." L deadpanned. "Do you have the loc-"

"Light's only problems were with _you!_ _What the fuck did you do to him?"_ Matt was practically screaming at the end of that, and L winced away as if hiding from blows.

Near's murmur was too quiet for L to make out.

"What did Near say?" L asked, throwing the car into gear and pulling out of the parking lot with a shower of gravel. The wiper blades could barely keep up with the rain now.

Matt sighed noisily, halfway between a groan and a scream. "We think he's at the Phoenix Grove Park. The tracker's inside the area we found the phone in." There was a tense pause. "It's a long way away and we're already halfway there. _You_ don't need to-"

L hung up.

* * *

There was music playing, the tune familiar but muted. It was elevator music or a TV somewhere, nothing that needed his immediate attention.

The familiarity niggled at his brain every time it jingled. Was it his alarm clock? Where did he know it from?

Light jerked awake with a gasp.

_No! No no nononono..._ His eyes darted around as he tried to figure out from where the sound was coming. _I can't have brought it with me._

The phone's silver edge barely showed under his discarded jacket on the other seat, its presence damning him. It was supposed to be on the desk in his room. Instead, he had brought his leash along when he least wanted to be found.

He lunged for the phone but the motion sent white-hot pain lancing up both arms, arcing through his shoulders like electricity through a live wire. He screamed, unable to stop himself. The pain hammered his head, sizzled through his arms and tied his stomach into knots but he still tried to reach for the phone.

His dripping fingers brushed the phone's corner to no effect; he could no longer control them. His left fingers were ruined claws, utterly useless to him now. The right hand was limp, the digits loose and flopping. If he tried to move them, the pain grew to explosive heights and nearly made him black out again.

Sweat dripped down his temples and stung the bite marks on his lips as he focused all his will on that infernal device. It could have been a bank vault for all the impossibility of his being able to open it. He could only try to turn it off or shatter it since he couldn't even open the door anymore to throw it away from him.

"It wasn't you." Light chuckled; it was more like a wheeze through his clenched teeth. "It was _never you_ I was reaching for."

His dead fingers knocked the phone out of reach onto the floor, but he didn't even have the energy to curse anymore.

His eyelids felt heavy as stones, and he slumped back against the seat, his sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his skin. He stank of fear and blood... and bile? Had he thrown up?

What if he didn't die before someone found him? He couldn't do this again, not knowing the enormity of the agony he would suffer.

_It's hopeless. I never wanted this… this torture._

_I just need it all to **stop.** I can't take it anymore._

_Keep going, you have to keep going._

He sucked air noisily into his lungs and let it out in a sob. The fingers of his right hand fumbled uselessly at the door handle, but he couldn't grasp it.

No escape there.

_Don't stop now. What happens if you fail?_

The knife was still within reach, however.

Light's head thumped against the window. The shock didn't even register, so fixated was he on the ruby-crusted blade.

_L won't take you back, you know. Not after this._

_You have to go deep, otherwise you'll never get to the jugular._

_Your whole family will know. They'll **all** know and they'll all **pity** you._

_Just pull hard and it will all be over._

**_Everyone_ ** _will see these scars..._

"No." Light whispered. "No, they won't."

* * *

L leaped out of Roger's wagon, the engine still running in his haste to reach Light's car. It was sitting by itself in the park's empty lot so Near and Matt hadn't arrived yet.

He couldn't be too late. He refused to contemplate it.

He splashed through puddles and nearly slipped on the wet grass before he reached the car. There was a silhouette in the driver's seat; Light was still there, at least. He had no idea what he would say. He had no time to think.

"Light-kun?" He banged on the window to get Light's attention. Light was leaning against the other side of the glass, his face hidden by the angle of his head. He didn't move in response to L, so L tested the door handle.

Unlocked.

If he believed in a god, this would be the time to thank him. L yanked the door open and stepped around it, now ready to shake some sense into Light, to scream at him for being a stupid child and making everyone worry. He'd had enough of Light's theatrics on today of all days. He caught a handful of Light's shirt and opened his mouth.

Then the smell hit him like heat from a furnace, a physical force that made him flinch away. The metallic reek was something he had only ever associated with crime scenes.

Light's shoulder struck his thigh and he toppled headfirst out of the car, his shirt pulling itself out of L's suddenly weak grasp. His head hit the ground with a wet thump, his spine twisted horribly and his arms flung out like broken wings.

There was so much _red_. It painted the trenches gouged in Light's left arm and the single wobbly laceration in his right. It had soaked through Light's shirt and pants. It was… everywhere in the car.

L lifted Light's shoulders and started to pull him the rest of the way out of the car so he could get a better look at him.

"Light-kun?" He asked again, feeling a familiar chill creeping up on him.

Light only slipped bonelessly to the ground. His eyes were slitted open; however, they didn't move even with the water that pelted him.

L nearly gagged when he grabbed one arm blindly and his fingers slipped into that wet, warm crevice. He shook the hand like he was dislodging insects, horrified by the thought of what he was touching.

Light didn't even respond to that.

Taking Light's pulse in his wrist was an utter impossibility given that L could see some of the veins. One side of Light's throat was nicked and bloodied as well so L pressed his fingers to the undamaged side of Light's neck.

Nothing. He shifted his fingers and realigned them, hoping that he wasn't too late.

_Focus!_ His training demanded of him, forcing him to cut off those emotional responses and concentrate on the task at hand.

There! It was weak, so weak, barely the beating of a butterfly's wings.

No amount of bandaging could stop the bleeding completely. L whipped off Light's belt to make a tourniquet. Better that Light lose the arm than die here.

What a waste.

_And what a failure you are._

"Stop it." L whispered, pressing his fingers to Light's other elbow to slow the bleeding. "It's not true. Stop it."

"You've done it again," Aaron's voice mocked, his blond hair fanning around him on the ground. The gobs of gray sludge and blood that had blown through the back of his skull cushioned his childish head like a morbid pillow.

Mello said nothing given that his bottom jaw was mostly gone, sheared away when the lorry took his head off. One side of his face was crushed in from the impact, and he looked pitiful without the rest of his body. Those eerily perfect teeth rested on that black asphalt and the green glass orbs could only stare pitilessly at L.

Mello vanished and Light blurred back into focus with frightening suddenness. Belatedly, L realized that there were other voices around him and the rain had stopped soaking him.

Bare, muddy feet appeared at his side. He looked up to see Near holding an umbrella over them, his mobile at his ear. He was only wearing pajamas.

Matt fell to the ground across from L and propped up Light's body while L kept pressure on his arms. He gave L one murderous glare before turning his attention fully to Light.

At a glance, Light might only be sleeping, eyes closed and hair mussed in slumber. The vivid lines across his forehead and his clenched teeth belied his pain, however.

"Not you too."

That wasn't Matt's voice, that pitiful mewling. Near was giving directions into his mobile. Then who…?

"I can't do this again."

Not after Wammy. Not after the worst day of L's life.

The fluttering heartbeat grew slower every time they checked and eventually faded away while the rain pounded around their miserable group. He was completely unaware of time passing, but suddenly Near was struggling to pull him away from Light. It was Matt who finally got the two of them away from the dead boy while the paramedics went to their futile work. L couldn't take his eyes away from the grisly scene; it was sure to feature in his nightmares for years to come.

Hadn't he seen enough of ambulances today? Hadn't he caused enough blood and death for four lifetimes?

L stumbled while being led away and barely caught himself in a crouch before he hit the ground. His watery legs couldn't hold him if he tried to stand up. Instead, he pulled himself into such a tight ball that his back shrieked with pain. His lungs were raw but that didn't stop the choking breaths that made his whole head throb.

Where was he? Where were his defenses? L was gone, broken into tiny pieces, his whole persona not even a memory right now.

Who was this child sobbing like his heart was broken, in public where anyone could see?

He heard a dimly whispered epithet and the squelch of knees hitting the ground. Arms flung themselves around his shoulders, guileless in their abandon. L jerked backward and fell half-out of his crouch; the shock of red hair in front of his bleary eyes didn't move. His weak protest went ignored.

"This isn't any easier for me." Matt's voice was strangely thick, and his head was twisted away so L couldn't see his face.

Only Near was dry-eyed, his gaze averted. One hand was slightly outstretched, hovering over L's shoulder as if Near didn't want to witness their emotional display yet couldn't leave either.

The rain lessened while they stayed there, paralyzed in that awkward tableau.

It might have been shock, but for a moment, L felt no desire to run away.


	40. Ephemera

A scent lingered in the darkened room, something warm and spicy and unexpectedly human.

There was nothing else alive in this tomb.

Electrical cords and neatly-folded shirts were stowed inside the suitcase sitting on the bed. An old Japanese mobile phone lay atop the dresser, a fine layer of dust obscuring the surface. The bathroom held a lone bottle of cologne and a toothbrush.

The detritus could have belonged to anyone. Only the ID cards on the nightstand could attest to the escapee's identity, but even they were only tiny photographs and raised gold type.

This "Light Yagami" had slipped his skin, leaving behind dead weight: ties that bound him to a life that he despised.

L couldn't blame him. He wouldn't have stayed either.

Somehow in the months that he had spent cataloging information and making observations, the person beneath all the impersonal data had fallen through the cracks. In fact, the more control over Light that L had, the more Light slipped away from him. All the data in the world hadn't helped L understand him.

Light had eluded him. He'd won. He was dead by his own hand, on his own terms, and no one could bring him back.

L turned away from the suitcase and would have left the room, but a box in the back of one open drawer caught his gaze. He bent and tugged it out, curious at its placement when Light struck him as meticulous about the arrangement of his things.

It was a box for a camera, a fine digital model that couldn't have been cheap. It was also surprisingly heavy for an empty box. L turned it over and found a note taped to the back along with a remnant of wrapping paper.

_Mom said that you haven't ever had a camera, so I thought you could use this._

_Hopefully you won't just take crime scene photos with it._

_Take it on vacation and capture something worth remembering._

_Let's compare photos sometime! Happy picture-taking!_

_Sayu_

Clear stickers still held the box's flaps shut. Light had never even opened it. He had nothing he wanted to remember.

Instead, he had left behind a note, the only personal item in this austere room.

_Please give all of my earnings to Sayu Yagami. Deposit them in a trust fund or a savings account, whichever will raise the fewest questions. Don't tell her why._

A note for a note, apparently. Light had repaid his debt.

L was wasting his time here.

He used Wammy's master key to lock that sarcophagus behind him and made his way to the kitchen. The thought of food made him queasy but he pulled the last of his ice cream out of the freezer anyway. He couldn't be bothered to return to his room, instead curling up in the corner of the breakfast nook with a spoon.

He couldn't even taste it given the bandages over his nose. Even this meager pleasantness had been spoiled.

Roger found him long after the carton had been scraped out and L had simply stared out the window, feeling equally hollowed out. Night was falling and he couldn't muster the desire to do anything. He hadn't gotten any work done today. He couldn't recall the last time he'd opened his phone or turned on his computer.

Roger explained that he was making the funeral arrangements, but L didn't care about the details and only listened with half an ear. Did he want to speak at the funeral? He shook his head in answer to Roger's question before even that small motion aggravated his broken nose. He contemplated whether or not he even wanted to show up for the proceedings. It would be terribly disrespectful not to, however.

Part of L wondered when he had ever cared about being respectful, or respectable, or sensitive, or any number of monstrous failings that he had as a human being.

After Roger left, L forced himself to climb off the bench and do something with himself. All he managed to do was unearth a bag of biscuits in the cupboard, which he tucked under one arm as he headed back to his room.

Yesterday's events were still a mess, waiting to be cataloged in his head. There was a jumble of ambulance rides, hospital visits, phone calls, ice packs, bandages, and showers, so much water to get rid of all that blood. Light's blood, his blood, buried under his fingernails and in his hair, his mouth. Even the remembered taste almost made him gag.

He could still see Matt sitting in the waiting room, elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair. His face was hidden, but his shoulders trembled every so often. Was this wounded boy the same person that had pulled him away from Light's corpse? Had L really allowed those arms to… to…

His own weakness shamed him. He couldn't think the words, not even to himself. He had never allowed himself close physical contact with another person. L was a machine; he didn't need... _hugs_ like other human beings.

Shying away from the memory, he climbed the stairs quickly to avoid meeting anyone else in the halls.

At least Near would be asleep right now; that is, if anyone was sleeping after that rotten day. It was Near who had made all the phone calls and listened to the doctors in the waiting room. He had done all the work, even driving them back home after Roger had taken over at the hospital.

L… had done nothing. He'd screwed up enough.

He made it into his room and closed the doors behind him before horror seized his limbs. The cookies fell to the floor, forgotten as bile rose in his throat.

What was he going to say to Light's family?


	41. Doldrums

L had made every effort to stay out of the funeral proceedings. He'd spoken to the police and the coroner on _that day_ , but that was it. After that, he had given the house's visiting investors and a few reporters a wide berth when they came to ask questions. One party had questions about Mr. Wammy's will and the orphanage's future; the other wanted to commemorate him as a paragon of the community.

L thought these reporters were lucky they had never lived here.

Mr. Wammy and Roger had never meant to be cruel. They probably did more good than harm to the orphans and the community. Most of those still living were tolerably functional in society. The remaining few were dead or like L: forever bound to the house because they hadn't learned to survive without it. L's leash was very long, but it was still a leash.

L was never meant to stand alone. For all his self-sufficiency, he still needed his Watari, his right hand. Now it and its replacement had been severed at the wrist.

His stomach lurched at how appropriate that metaphor was. Before he could turn around and retreat back to his room, he knocked on Roger's doorframe since the door was open. He had questions, and pride kept him from asking anyone younger than him no matter how perceptive or knowledgeable they might be.

"Roger, I need your advice." He said before the older man had finished writing on the stack of papers before him.

Roger looked up in clear surprise, pen frozen mid-signature. After a moment, he pushed aside the stack of papers and motioned for L to close the door behind him. L shut it and hovered just inside, ready to flee back to his rooms as soon as he was done.

"I don't know what to tell Light's family" was what L should have asked, but what came out was "What is Light's family going to be told?" He didn't want any part of that explanation.

Roger took off his glasses and tapped them sluggishly against his desk. L shifted uncomfortably, wishing he could make the man think faster.

"I'd be grateful if you notified them. I never met them and my hands are very full right now," Roger said, expelling a tired sigh at the end.

His maddeningly calm voice did nothing to assuage the horror that L still felt. He was keenly aware of the lack of Wammy's confident guidance. Roger wasn't half the man Wammy had been, wasn't half the man he needed right now.

"That's not what I'm asking." L started but Roger continued as if he hadn't heard.

"If you're concerned about the hospital records and Light's identity, they're air-tight." Roger's gaze met L's very briefly. "We've gone through this before."

"I don't care about that," L snapped before Roger could continue. "It's his family. How do we tell them that Light isn't coming home?" He felt the sudden perverse desire to smile, to laugh aloud at their monstrous, obscene stupidity. Especially his own. "Light was no orphan."

They couldn't just bury him and forget about him, not like the others.

"I'm not sure what you're asking me, L." Roger stared at him in bemusement. "We have to notify them, but it's premature to…"

L stopped listening. He could feel the pressure building in his head at yet another reminder of who was missing. Wammy would know what to do. Wammy could handle all the people problems while L focused on the casework.

"I'm a murderer."

L opened eyes he couldn't remember closing and met Roger's expression of horror. Apparently he'd spoken aloud.

He wasn't getting any answers here.

"L, wait!" Roger stood as L turned and ripped the door open, but he had no ears for the older man's frippery.

He turned sharply out the door and headed down the hall, aiming for his room and the dubious sanctuary it offered.

This house was a nightmare. He hated being here. He hated being surrounded by so many people, so many impressionable fools. Why couldn't they stay out of his life? He never asked for so many followers.

But he had asked for Light. He had played god with another human being, and this time, there was no system to blame for his failure.

Dammit. He hated himself.

* * *

"I do not think Mrs. Watson would like you doing that."

Matt snorted at the reference to their cook and only rearranged his legs and clunky boots more comfortably on the stone table from where he slouched. Their lunch dishes were cleared out of the way, but Matt's games and Near's puzzles took up all the remaining space.

"It's been a shitty week. I think she'll overlook this minor transgression." Matt reached for his cigarettes, then decided it wasn't worth the effort to get up and go outside. They returned to the window ledge where both of their phones rested, waiting.

Near sighed and sifted through his puzzle pieces, his eyes dark behind his lenses. "What I meant was: you are in my way."

"Then move your puzzle. I'm busy."

Near's chuckle was little more than a breath of air.

"Who needs your help this time? Mario, or is it Zelda or Alucard?"

That made Matt pause the game on his new DSi.

"Since when do you know any of those names?"

"I am not completely ignorant. I just do not enjoy them myself." It might have been a smile that crossed Near's face for a moment, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. Levity was a rare commodity these days.

"I'll be damned." Matt snickered and bent his head back to the game. "It's Link and that damn princess."

While he didn't pull his feet down, he did rearrange himself so his boots were on the windowsill rather than the table itself. It wasn't wholly uncomfortable. He could probably tolerate it for a little while.

Then the front door opened and all games were forgotten. Both of them stiffened and watched to see who was coming.

It was still a surprise to see so much of Roger. He had preferred to stay behind the scenes and take care of administrative duties rather than the students, but without Wammy around… They had all changed a little.

Roger glanced into the kitchen and saw them as he was headed to his office, detouring instead to speak to them.

"Where's L?" He looked around as if he actually expected L to be in the kitchen in the middle of the day.

Matt shrugged and Near answered, "I have not seen him all day."

"I have news and I don't want to repeat myself." Roger took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "There are going to be a lot of changes here at the school. It's going to affect all of you."

"So soon?" Near asked, but Matt kicked his feet off the table, narrowly missing Near's scattered puzzle pieces. He stood and stretched his aching spine until it popped.

"I'll find him." He didn't bother to get his phone; L hadn't been answering it for days. He was like a ghost, haunting the house. Matt's best bet was to start with L's room and go from there, going door to door like some morbid salesman bearing evil news.

As he climbed the stairs one ponderous step at a time, he could feel the lethargy that had recently become so familiar slipping away. Any news, good or bad, was an improvement over this slog, this endless monotony.

How he hated the waiting.

* * *

L's body was going through the motions of living, but his mind had checked out. He didn't know what he was doing anymore. Roger had been no help, so the problem of the Yagamis still loomed over him.

He scrubbed the grit from his last attempt at sleeping out of his eyes and fought to focus on his sitting room. He could see his mobile wedged into the corner of the sofa, mocking him. He couldn't even recall how it had gotten there. The battery was likely dead, but he would never know if he left it there. He wouldn't have to find Chief Yagami's phone number or force the right words out of his cottony mouth.

What was he supposed to say?

"I have some bad news…"

"I regret to inform you…"

"Chief? It's about your son…"

What had Light ever been to him? He was no brother, no relative, no friend, not even a real coworker. Hadn't L kept secrets from him and outright lied to him?

He couldn't see straight after so long without real sleep or food. He'd subsisted often on naps before, but he couldn't stay asleep for long enough to feel any relief. Nothing was restful. His head was being slowly crushed in a vice, mashing his thoughts to pulp, but he didn't know how to function right now. He couldn't get out of this death spiral on his own.

Someone was knocking on his door. He found half a cup of cold coffee and drank it without even trying to stir up the sugar in the bottom. It tasted terrible even through his stuffy nose.

"What?" he asked. Experience had taught him that pretending not to be here would only result in someone attempting to pick the lock or just banging on the door. He couldn't sleep through either situation.

"Open the door. I'm not going to talk through it." It was Matt.

L suppressed a grimace. To say he was uncomfortable around him was an understatement. _That day_ had upset everything about his routine with the other adults at Wammy House.

He approached the doors long enough to disengage the locks before backing hastily away.

Matt opened one side after a few moments and pushed it open, but he remained in the doorway. L went to the other side of the room and braced himself against the curtains gathered at one side of the window. Matt mimicked his posture, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe but crossing his arms.

"Roger has to talk to us. He wants you downstairs." Matt's expression was strangely blank. The most transparent of them had found shields to match L's.

"I've already spoken to him today."

Matt didn't take the bait.

"Doesn't matter. He wants you there. You're dressed; that means you're ready. Let's go," Matt said.

"Don't order me around."

Matt actually laughed at L's response, but it was an awful sound.

"Or what, L? You're going to sulk in here? Throw a pity party and ignore us? Hope your problems go away if you don't face them?" His falsely-lighthearted voice dropped. "Roger won't speak to us without you. I don't blame him. He's tired."

This was probably more than Matt had said to him in months, if not years.

L shifted and scowled into the corner of the room. It was one thing to think fast when it came to casework or puzzles yet quite another when it came to dealing directly with people. His stress level wasn't helping his addled brain either.

Too soon, Matt was speaking again and L hadn't even come up with a good argument to rebut his last statement.

"I don't know what he saw in you." Matt's voice was short, clipped. He was still frozen in that insouciant pose, half-invading L's territory.

"Light?" L said after too long a pause.

"No. Mello." Matt shook his head, another half-laugh escaping him. "He practically worshiped the ground you walk on."

"I… can't imagine why." He didn't know what else he might say that would get Matt to leave. Why was he bringing this up? He already said he wasn't going anywhere.

"Me neither. I've never seen a bigger coward." Matt smirked, but his eyes still didn't look angry. "A gutless, spineless _bitch_ —"

"Are you only here to insult me?" L pushed away from the wall. Where were his defenses? "Tell Roger I'll see him later."

"You tell him. You're not the only one hurting here." Matt showed no signs of leaving.

L halted in his steps and would have trotted out the old line that he wasn't hurting because he couldn't, but a glance at Matt stopped the lies from escaping. That irreverent pose and the calm yet disbelieving expression made him look just like Light had on _that day._

He cursed tiredly and shoved a hand through his hair to get it away from his face. He was really losing control of himself. He glanced down at his clothes. Matt was right; he was dressed and had no real reason to keep avoiding them all.

"I'm coming." He just wanted this over with.

He ducked into his bedroom long enough to pull on a shirt that he hadn't slept in before joining Matt. Matt said nothing more and seemed content to lead him down the hall once L left the room. L followed a few steps behind, perhaps to pretend that he wasn't practically being dragged by the hand.

L dug his hands into his pockets while they walked. The many recent upheavals were probably to blame for his foolish desire to speak, but the feeling didn't go away the longer they went without talking.

L was a coward. Matt was right. There was only one way to fix that.

"You know he was thinking of you before- at the end, right?" He didn't have the words for anything he needed to say right now.

Matt glanced over his shoulder at L, a moment's confusion passing over his features before he stopped dead in his tracks.

"What are you talking about?" Matt had to know, but he wanted L to say it, just as L had forced Light to speak so many times to confirm his intentions. On the receiving end, it was frustrating and borderline insulting.

"Mello was angry with me for his own sake, but he worried about you." L stopped walking when he was beside Matt, leaving a few feet between them.

"He didn't want the rest of you to end up like me." L paused. "Or him. He wished I'd died long before you grew up, like all the others."

"He wouldn't have meant that." Matt sounded almost flippant when L had expected him to be shocked instead.

After all, L had never admitted when the memories had stopped being a disorganized jumble of sensory information. L's mind had been so warped by morphine after the coma that he couldn't remember his own name half the time. It had taken weeks, but once he fit all the pieces together, he knew it wasn't anything he needed to share, no matter the younger Matt's anguish.

"His words left no room for doubt." L started walking, unbalanced again by how nothing was going as it should. Matt followed after a moment.

"Did he say anything else?" Matt's tone hadn't lost that casual edge, but maybe it was his own defenses speaking now.

"He wanted to get me away from everyone. He had an image to maintain in front of you and the rest." L took the stairs with a slouch to pretend that this information didn't affect him, but it was harder now. "He was mostly angry. He said the system was broken but no one was fixing it. I think he hated me for it."

"Maybe, but I doubt it." Matt tried to laugh, but it didn't sound right. L stared ahead since he didn't want to see anything.

"I… regret taking another friend away from you." L swallowed what felt like a rock in his throat. He didn't know how to apologize, but to do anything else seemed cruel. "First Mello, now Light."

L heard no warning, but suddenly Matt grabbed his arm and spun him forcefully around. He nearly tripped down the last few stairs, only saving himself by clutching the banister. He twisted his arm out of Matt's grasp, but Matt only caught hold of him again.

"What?" Matt asked, his voice unusually sharp. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I killed them. It's my fault." L managed to get his arms out of Matt's punishing grip and stumbled backwards down the last few steps. He was going to have bruises from that.

"Is that what this is all about?" Matt pulled his goggles down and focused on L. "It's 'your' fault?"

"Of course." Was Matt blind or just stupid and forgetful?

"You didn't kill Mello. He died in an accident." Matt looked curiously insulted, his tone bland now.

"He blamed me. You weren't there; you don't know what happened." L wanted to say more, but Matt held up a hand to stop him.

"Don't I?" Matt still stood on the stairs above him, looking down at him as an adult would a child. "I grew up with him, L and **_I_** was his best friend. _I knew him_ , not you."

Matt's expression, far from being angry, was sympathetic instead as he continued.

"I know Light too, probably better than you, and he wouldn't blame you either."


	42. Upset

Instead of replying, L rubbed a hand over his face in a tired gesture.

Matt was pretty sure it was an act, like so much else with him.

"Let's get this over with." L turned away and shuffled down the hall. His steps dragged even more than usual.

Matt shook his head, irritated that the man was such a dolt. Was he carrying around all this guilt over situations he had no control over? Had he been doing it for years?

At least the walk back to the kitchen was blissfully silent now. No more awkward confessions remained to be made.

Roger was sitting at the island when they got to the kitchen, a sheaf of papers stacked next to his briefcase. He looked relieved to see them both as he sipped at a cup of tea. Behind him, Near had cleaned up his puzzle and put Matt's games away too.

L immediately busied himself by putting water in the electric teakettle, but Matt took a seat at the island.

"So, what's changing here?" Matt said to get pleasantries out of the way.

Roger looked put off by his abruptness, but he went ahead anyway. He pulled a few pages out of the stack and held them up so he could read them through his bifocals.

"Quillsh and I drew up these plans early last year." He glanced at Matt so quickly that he might have missed it. "Several incidents forced our hand, but ultimately, we decided it would be best for all of you. And the children."

L was taking cups out of the cupboard behind them while Near spun his hair into little twists. Matt's fingers itched to be playing a game if he wasn't going to smoke, but he sat there, trying to be patient.

"Wammy House won't be accepting new students for a few years." Roger paged through the document, but his eyes weren't reading it. It was just a stalling action. "The curriculum will be remade while we school those orphans that are still here, but we're eliminating the ranking system, the specialized training, and the need for false identities."

"Okay." Matt said since the other two seemed disinclined to reply. "So my job's going away?"

"Let me finish. We wanted you three to have some stability so your jobs will stay in place for now."

L looked like he was ignoring the conversation, which he probably was since he made his own money. Wammy House was just another base of operations for him. But Near…

"Wammy House will become just another orphanage, a school for gifted children from the other orphanages. We won't need investigators or cryptologists, and everything related to espionage and weapons is going away.

"As such, your identities will be your own to protect. If you want to stay, you'll be expected to teach or do clerical work." Roger started needlessly rearranging the papers in that pregnant quiet before he let them fall and just sat back.

"Somehow it all got away from us." Roger's eyes flicked to where L was standing before falling back to the table.

The silence behind Matt was the first thing that made him turn. L's face was blank, and he stood immobile with a container of tea in one hand and a tea ball in the other.

"My labs?" L finally asked in an uncharacteristically meek voice.

"They're not a part of the new plans. We didn't mean for the transition to be so abrupt, but you have a few years." Roger looked like he wanted to say more.

"Can I still do security and work out back?" Matt asked. He was loathe to part with his setup after so much time putting it together.

Roger turned away from L with difficulty. "It would be a part-time job at best."

"I can handle the computer systems, maybe be your network administrator." Matt could hardly believe what was coming out of his mouth. Was he really fighting to stay here? It had to be a knee-jerk reaction, surely.

Near hadn't said anything yet. Matt spared a moment of pity for him. He had it the worst out of all of them.

"We might be able to work something out. We can renegotiate each of your positions here, but the work you have been doing won't be necessary anymore." Roger looked exhausted. The funeral preparations in addition to everything else were taking their toll on him.

"How soon?" Near finally spoke, his voice calm in contrast to the spiraled mess he'd made of his hair.

Roger glanced at his papers. "We're hoping to reopen as a school in two or three years."

"Is that all?" L said. He'd finally managed to put down the tea, but his gaze was fixed on the cupboard, away from them all.

"For now. I'll let you know the details once we have a more definite timetable." Visibly relieved, he pushed the papers back into his briefcase.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to make some phone calls." Roger stood stiffly and gathered his things. The man looked like he had aged a decade in the last week. As he passed by the motionless L, he said softly, "I'm sorry."

L stiffened in reply but said nothing.

Matt waited until Roger was gone before turning to Near. "Did he say anything about going to the hospital before I got back?"

"I do not think he has gone yet." Near said quietly. "He was with a lawyer and some of the investors all morning."

L finally jerked into motion, but he looked unsure of what he was supposed to be doing. He picked up the teakettle and started pouring it out even though it hadn't been turned on and the water was cold.

Matt pulled his goggles off so he could massage his temples. This waiting was driving them _all_ crazy. "Remind me why we can't go again?"

"Roger is listed as the only contact in Mr. Wammy's absence so the doctors will speak to him, but they will not let even Roger go into the ICU right now."

"What's wrong with Roger?" L interrupted, looking away from the mess he was making of his tea.

Matt sputtered, unable to form a coherent response to L's unexpected question. "With… with Roger?"

L met Matt's eyes without a trace of guile. He wasn't kidding; he really had no idea. Suddenly, L's bizarre comments earlier made sense.

Matt had thought L was only exaggerating out of guilt.

Near was the one to respond after Matt lost his ability to speak. "Roger is fine. He is asking about Light."

* * *

L flinched away from the sound of Light's name. Matt and Near were both staring at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"'Light'?" The name sounded peculiar, half-finished in his mouth. "But Light is dead."

" _That_ is not a foregone conclusion," Near snapped, surprising them all. "Do not be premature, L."

L had to stop and clear his suddenly parched throat. "But they never _half_ -die."

"You think you killed him too." Matt said in a deadpan, his face betraying nothing. "Like Mello, even B and A."

"Of course." They were idiots, the lot of them. Had they heard nothing he said? "Light wanted this before I met him, and now he has it. Stop trying to make him live." L pushed away from the counter, needing to get away from here.

"He doesn't want it," L said over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

"I don't give a shit what Light _wants_ ," Matt spit out.

L stopped beside the island and fixed the redhead with one eye before Matt could say any more. "And you said you knew him."


	43. Harmony

The funeral took place on a beautiful spring day, one of the first truly sunny days that year. The air was warm and only breezy instead of gusty and damp, and the gardens near the rented hall were alive with eye-searing colors under the yellow sunshine.

Wammy House's students and staff were all present along with a reporter or two, heads of various charities, and a healthy contingent of Winchester's populace. Mr. Wammy even had a few surviving cousins who showed up. The hall was almost full to capacity.

Matt hung as far back as he could in the packed room, uncomfortable in a proper dress shirt and new shoes that weren't boots despite still wearing his jeans. He had even unearthed a very old pair of wire-rimmed glasses so he wouldn't stand out by wearing goggles. He felt exposed in front of all these strangers, but it would have been terribly disrespectful to stay home.

That weird camaraderie he and Near had developed since Mr. Wammy's death meant that the younger man lingered with him in the back row. In a black sweater and pants, Near was pale as milk. He had a fedora pulled low over the dark glasses that hid his eyes, and he sat nearly motionless during the service, perhaps hoping that no one would notice him either.

L was conspicuously absent. Matt couldn't say that he missed him personally; it had been a hell of a week and they were all being cut by each other's sharp edges. However, he had thought the man would have the decency to show up at his surrogate father's funeral service. It had been clear to anyone with eyes that L was Mr. Wammy's favorite student, and this was how L repaid him?

It seemed L's callousness knew no bounds.

There was to be a short graveside service later that afternoon, so as soon as the speakers were done, Matt and Near slipped out of their seats to beat anyone else to the door. There were all sorts of formalities connected to these services, and they had no desire to stand in a line and receive the condolences of strangers, make small talk, or be interviewed. It wasn't as if anyone had explained what was expected of them in these circumstances.

Matt hastened through the inner doors and nearly collided with a gentleman lingering just inside the foyer.

"Excuse me," he mumbled with a hasty nod, intent on getting out before anyone made them stay here.

"Ryuzaki?"

Near's query made Matt turn back around, and he blanched at the sight. He would never have recognized L with his hair brushed into a semblance of order, much less dressed in a suit and tie that actually fit. Even the bruising that should have given him away had faded to a semblance of his normally shadowed eyes.

L's face indicated nothing, but his discomfort showed in the hands buried in his pockets under his jacket. Without his customary slouch and in clothes that weren't hanging off him, the suit made him look taller. It was… weird to say the least.

"Have you been out here the entire time?" Near asked, and L nodded.

"I arrived a little late." L reached up as if to tug at his steel-gray tie but put his hand back down before he messed it up. "It was a longer walk than I anticipated."

"You walked? That's… never mind." Matt took off his glasses and stuffed them in his pocket. He'd rather be half-blind than deal with the headache he could feel coming on from the outdated prescription. "Are you coming to the gravesite?"

"I was contemplating it."

"Drive us, would you?" Matt held out the keys to Mr. Wammy's car, which he had reluctantly used at Roger's behest. "I left my goggles at the house, and it's too bright for Near."

L cocked an eyebrow at him but reached out to take the keys.

Maybe he saw it for the truce it was; maybe he didn't. Matt was tired of disagreeing with L's stance on Light's actions, dealing with Roger's plans to change the house, and seeing Near's eerily calm acceptance of it all. Sometimes he wished he could go back to playing games all day between jobs and never seeing most of these people.

But those days were long gone. Hell, he wasn't even going to have a place here in a few years. Maybe he _wouldn't_ see them ever again.

Mmm, best not to think about that right now.

"Roger didn't insist that we stay?" L asked even as they left the building for the crowded parking lot.

"He knows us." Near answered simply. "It is enough that we were here."

Matt let the two of them walk ahead so he could try to massage away the ache behind his eyes.

It had been nine days since Light had… since Light.

According to Roger, the hospital policy didn't allow anyone to visit Light for at least a week after he was admitted regardless of his physical state. Even after that time was up, they could disallow visitors if Light wasn't making any progress in the counseling, surgery, hypnosis, or whatever they were doing to him.

Matt wondered what the definition of progress was in Light's case. Surely they would be able to see Light if Light was dying, right? Did the lack of information mean that those hideous injuries weren't as awful as they had looked?

He swallowed hard at the memory of Light's body in that lifeless sprawl across the muddy grass, the rain sluicing pink rivers over Light's throat and arms, and the hopeless and incoherent terror that was all L was capable of at that point.

Matt knew what that felt like. That was why he'd hung onto L's bony shoulders so L couldn't see the paramedics getting a defibrillator out.

L had seen Matt's best friend die, after all.

Not one of them talked on the short drive to the cemetery, and their group seemed equally disinclined to leave the car and mill about the grave itself while waiting for everyone else to show up. Matt stepped outside and lit up a cigarette while leaning against the trunk. He was sure he'd get a dirty look if he did this in a cemetery while anyone else was around.

Halfway through, he knocked the embers off and stuffed what remained back into the pack in his pocket. It tasted like dust in his mouth, and it didn't make him feel any better.

The sun was nice, though.

He closed his eyes and unbuttoned his collar so he could breathe, letting his head fall back. A breeze he hadn't noticed before brought a whiff of freshly clipped grass and flowers. The sunshine through his eyelids was warm and red, and in that peaceful quiet before anyone else arrived, he felt relaxed.

The car shifted as doors opened and closed, but Matt ignored them, happy to stay in this bubble he'd found for himself. Whatever tensions had been plaguing him could wait a few more minutes.

When the crunch of gravel under car tires interrupted his reverie, he felt almost up to dealing with all these strangers. His headache was gone, and his dark clothes had soaked up the sun's warmth. It felt surprisingly good.

A blur that looked like L was wandering among the headstones near the parking lot, but Near's diminutive shape was nowhere to be seen.

At least, not until Matt tried to take a step and nearly kicked him. Near was sitting on the ground in the car's shade, chin and interlaced fingers stacked atop one knee that was drawn up to his chest. The fedora was pulled completely over his eyes, but Matt could see the hint of a smile beneath it.

Maybe he wasn't the only one affected by the unexpected sunlight. How odd to be at peace on a funeral, of all days.


	44. Apology

If there was sunlight outside, Light could not see it.

All he saw were bloody stars exploding behind his eyelids from scrunching them shut. He pressed his face into his right shoulder, hiding from his torn left arm. He did not have to see in order to know what the doctor and nurse were doing behind the screen that they had swung into place. He could feel the pressure of swabs and hear the words they used. The gruesome mental picture nauseated him.

It was far too late to save his dignity. The gown over his shoulder was sticky with snot and tears. To make matters worse, every other breath was something between a hiccup and a sob, and he could not make the noises stop. Those damn antidepressants they were force-feeding him made him weak and transparent. He had such a hard time keeping anything to himself now.

This was the first time he had been lucid while someone cleaned his wounds. The local anesthetic was worthless; his arms burned like they were on fire. The scent of rank blood soured with antiseptic and old sweat combined with the faint pressure of the stitches holding his arm together made him ill. The doctor's talk of infection and future surgeries did not help.

They thought there might be nerve damage, and they debated _fixing_ it. It was so frustratingly stupid that Light wanted to tear his hair out by the roots. Why would he want their help?

He would use those newly-fixed hands to hold a gun to his head. He could not, _would not_ do knives again.

He had passed out hoping to die, but he had woken up in hell. Trapped in a body that he had deliberately mutilated, his humiliation was on display for any nurse doing their rounds, for any guard assigned to watch him day and night. The lights were always on, and anyone in the ICU could see him with only a flimsy curtain to block the door. His shame was public and unbearable.

The less thought he gave to the counselors that harassed him twice daily, the better. He could not tell them the truth. If he had half a chance, he would do it again just to get away from this hellhole, let alone the shambles he had made of the rest of his life. What the hell was he supposed to do after this?

Even worse, _others_ surely knew where he was. He was unsure how he had gotten here, but Wammy House had to know. Someone would be forced to fetch him eventually. He hoped it would be Wammy. If he saw L… he did not know what he would do.

Actually, he did. He would kill himself with the plastic fork that still came with his meals, if he could use his hands. Put a hole in his jugular _and_ windpipe this time, just to make sure. Maybe bite through his tongue for good measure.

The last people he wanted to see were his family. What would they think of him?

Then his arm was being rewrapped, jolting him out of his daze. The nurse was asking him something, but he could not focus. His saliva had gone sour, and his face grew hot and tingly. Not again…

They barely got a bed pan in front of him before he started throwing up. It was the slow creep of something warm down his neck from the broken stitches that finally knocked him back out.

* * *

After the brief service, most of the attendees had drifted back to their cars before Roger approached Matt and the others, who were lingering on the periphery. Despite the breeze, it was still sunny and warm, like a herald of summer. Matt was reluctant to leave the light and head back to that dreary house full of strangers that would be offering their condolences.

"The hospital called late this morning," Roger said by way of greeting, adjusting his glasses while he stared at the ground. He pocketed the brief message he had spoken before they buried Wammy.

None of them had possessed the courage to say anything.

"They'll let us see him?" Matt prompted, and to his surprise, Roger nodded.

"It will be supervised, of course. He's been under guard," Roger said. "If one of you could go… I just don't have the time with all these people here."

"Of course. Sure. Right now?" Matt's hands were suddenly shaking, and he was aware that he was babbling.

"If you like. I have to get back to the house." Roger gestured lamely. "One of the societies is putting on a meal for us and the children. Unless you would like to join us."

It was an out. They all knew it.

"No. That's… that's alright." Matt swallowed and fished his glasses out of his pocket. He caught Near's glance at his trembling hands and jammed them back in his pockets, leaving his hands there to hide them.

"Take care, boys." With that, Roger sighed and turned away, his steps heavy.

Matt waited until he was out of range before turning back to Near, the last person he ever thought he would confide in.

"I don't think I'm ready for this." Matt started to laugh, but it sounded like the nervous fakery it was. "Do you think we should…?"

"Let him decide." Near sounded calm enough, but he was twisting a piece of hair tightly around his finger. "He can always ask us to leave."

Behind them, L said nothing through it all, his hands deep within his pockets and his shoulders starting to slump again. Whatever confidence or self-assurance he'd had before the funeral was disintegrating rapidly.

If he kept that up, Matt was going to start to pity him.

Matt finally pulled his old glasses back on so he could see. With his headache gone for a while, he felt better driving himself rather than relying on a rapidly-deflating L.

"Do you want me to drive?" he asked L.

L handed over the keys, his eyes on the ground.

"I'm going to walk home," L said in that uncharacteristically meek voice.

"From here? Don't be ridiculous." Matt rolled his eyes. "Just… come with us."

L did not respond, but he did not turn around and leave either. Matt and Near started walking toward the car; eventually, L followed. His habitual slouch was back, and he was tugging at the tie at his throat. He acted like a man avoiding his own execution.

The drive to the hospital was too long, too quiet and too tense. None of them had any skills to make this easier. They were misfits trapped in a car on the way to an errand that none of them had the slightest clue how to handle.

Near glanced at his phone as they walked into the hospital, still decked out in their funereal clothes.

"Visiting hours at the ICU end in twenty minutes," Near said while studying a sign. "We can only see him one at a time for a maximum of ten minutes."

"I'll be in the waiting room," L said dully.

"Nonsense. You think this is any easier for me?" Matt tried to massage away the tension headache creeping up on him. "He'll probably tell us all to get the hell out anyway."

* * *

Once they reached the ICU wing, Matt was visibly disturbed. He hunched like he was expecting blows, and his eyes darted everywhere but where they were going. Every now and then, he would straighten up with a half-smile on his face, as if to hide what was going on, but the pretense did not last. L was a shadow, silent and unobtrusive, his blank expression fixed in place.

Near was the one to approach the nurse's station and make their inquiries. He had not known the first thing about hospitals until Light's incident, but he had been doing most of the talking since then. Him, _Near_ , the most socially malformed of them all. Things were bad indeed if he was the one being forced to do all this.

A nurse appeared to escort them to Light's room one by one, but none of them stepped forward. Matt looked like he was going to be sick, and L wouldn't look anyone in the face.

So Near went.

It was both too long and too short a trip to the nondescript door. The small room only held two occupied beds, a tiny bathroom, and a window. A man in scrubs stood inside the door with several charts in hand, but he did not leave when Near and the nurse entered. Suicide watch. The man truly could not go anywhere.

The room stank of sweat and sickness. Near wanted to hold his breath while the nurse led him to the bed nearest the door. It was a claustrophobic cubby made from gray-green curtains, and the only light was a lamp over the head of the bed, casting weird shadows over the patient's face.

_This is not Light; this is the wrong room_. Near tried to protest, but the words would not come.

In that narrow tunnel, white bandages blended with the white blankets, and only the fingers on one hand were not swathed into invisibility. The face was turned away from the door and Near. When Near saw the dressings around the patient's neck above the flimsy hospital gown, he swallowed and almost put a hand to his own throat.

Somehow the sight of that one wound was so much worse than the others. This had been no charade, no weak plea for help.

L had been right; Light had wanted this.

The nurse stepped up to the sleeping man and put a hand on his shoulder. She said a few words and gestured with her chin toward Near. The man made no response, verbal or otherwise.

She left, but the guard inside the door stayed, his eyes on his charts but his posture attentive. Near looked away, took a breath to steel himself, and took a few steps closer to the foot of the bed.

"Lucian?" Near whispered. Even now, they had to play their secretive games. Near wished he could use Light's real name or speak Japanese, anything that felt real. Instead, he was forced to work with fake names and converse in English to keep up appearances.

Light's eyes cracked open just as Near got close enough to see them. He did not turn toward Near, only glancing out of the corner of his eye before refocusing on the curtain next to him.

"Didn't expect you." Light said, his voice little more than a whisper. There was no expression on his face to go with the bland words.

"The others…" Near stopped. They could explain themselves. "Ryuzaki and Matt are here too. They are out in the waiting room."

Light swore in Japanese, surprising Near with his ferocity.

"Do you want them to leave?" He was so far out of his depth here.

"I don't care." Light's words were flippant, but then he exhaled with exasperation. "Yes, I want all of you gone. Just… go away."

"Do you mean that?" Near asked after a pause. He had not moved from his stiff pose, hands clutching his hat to his chest.

"I wouldn't _fucking_ say it otherwise," Light snapped. "Is Mr. Wammy here too?"

Near looked down. "Mr. Wammy is not here. He is…" He had not expected to have to break the news to him so soon. "He is gone, Light." He said Light's name softly so the guard would not hear it, but Light still flinched away from the sound of it.

After a long silence, Light turned his head toward Near, wincing as he did so. "What do you mean?" There was the faintest tremor in his voice.

Near's throat constricted at the thought of what that motion had cost him, how bad the damage was under the bandages.

"His funeral was today. We three just came from there. It… happened the same day you came here." He lifted a shoulder in his unusual clothes, as if to say that he would not look like this otherwise.

Light swallowed. His gaze moved to the ceiling and stayed away from Near's. "How?"

"He had a heart attack after you left Ryuzaki."

Light closed his eyes and started to lift his arms before forcibly halting and relaxing. He turned away from Near. "Please go away now, Near. I don't want to see anyone from the house."

"If you wish." Near backed away, avoiding the guard's eyes as he left the room. He had the rest of that brief walk to compose his expression before the others saw it.

"He does not want to see us." Near's first words upon reaching their little group had the intended effect.

"I knew it." Matt stopped pacing long enough to fix Near with a steady gaze. "How does he look? What did he say?"

"Very little."

"How bad is it?"

Near ignored the last question. He did not have the heart to answer it when even he knew that it would upset Matt. "He wanted to see Mr. Wammy."

"Shit," Matt said, and Near nodded wearily.

"I told him the barest details." Near turned his hat in his hands before pulling it back onto his head. "Then he asked me to go."

L stood up from the chair he had been sitting in with his feet on the floor like a normal human being. His slouch disappeared, his eyes intense rather than merely blank. "Which room was it?"

Near told him and then watched as L started toward it. "Where are you going? He does not want any visitors."

"I need to talk to him," was all L said over his shoulder, not slowing in the least.

* * *

It was a good thing Near had not described Light to them. It was hard enough for L to come without knowing that Light looked like he was on the verge of dying still.

L's quick steps outside the door had surprised the guard in the room, but he had not stopped L from entering. Of the two patients in the room, only one had both arms bandaged. The rest of Light was too transformed for L to be certain of his identity. He approached the bed on the side that Light was facing, his pace slow but sure.

Light's hair was completely wrong; someone must have washed it and combed it back. Now it was half-parted in the middle and sticking sweatily to Light's clammy-looking skin. It left his face curiously exposed and vulnerable. Light had been feigning sleep, but L's footsteps made him open his eyes. Glassy eyes ringed in red and a mushroomy gray took in L's outfit with a mix of surprise and fear.

"This is hell, isn't it?" Light started in Japanese but switched back to English. He choked out what might have been a laugh. "And you are the devil."

L opened his mouth to make some sort of retort, but it was weak and slow in coming. Instead, wary of their audience, he stepped closer to the bed.

"Get away from me," Light hissed in a low voice.

"Why?" L asked instead of what he needed to say.

"Because I don't want to see you." Each word was its own sentence, distinct and fired out like bullets. "Turn around and get the hell out."

"No." L stood his ground even if his voice was soft and almost meek. He could not let Light know that he was scared. Fear only made a wild animal attack.

Light lifted his head stiffly since he could not push himself upright. He looked in the guard's direction. "Get this man—"

Quickly, L lowered his head in a bow, pressed his palms to his sides, and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Light's words broke off sharply.

" _Gomennasai,_ Yagami-kun," he said too softly for the guard to hear him, then switched to English as he bowed, far more deeply than was necessary or appropriate. "I'm… sorry. I have done everything wrong with you, and I don't know how to start… anything. You have every right to despise me." He held the position long enough for sweat to start bleeding from his temples into his eyes.

When L finally looked up, Light's face was forcibly masked, his features unreadable.

"And I have no right to ask forgiveness." L stood up slowly, his hair falling out of the neater style he had been wearing it in.

Light was not impressed.

"You think this _fixes_ things?" Light spoke through his teeth, his mouth barely moving.

L's gaze was drawn to Light's arms, hidden under all those bindings. He could not look at his face anymore.

"No. It's too late for that." Against all reason, L felt his face growing hot and itchy. The sweat made his eyes burn, and his head was pounding like it had right after Light punched him.

"I just wanted you to know that I know it's my fault, that I was the one making mistakes with you. I was foolish, and if I had…"

_If I hadn't been who I am…_

But Light would never give him another chance, and L could not fix this, could not just move past it. Light would leave as soon as he could, likely to go back to his family or off somewhere else, anywhere but here. Light had no reason to trust L ever again, and L was not sure he trusted himself. Mere words were not going to accomplish anything anymore.

"Don't flatter yourself," Light said in disgust. "This has nothing to do with you, you self-centered ass."

"I am self-centered. And I am _selfish_." L took a deep breath. "I'm glad you're still alive." He was not saying anything right.

Light's shoulders rose and fell with his breath as that moment stretched out taut. His gaze still pinned L like a dead butterfly.

"Get **_out_**."

For perhaps the first time since they had met, L respected Light's wishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't think that I changed my mind or brought Light back from the dead; he was never dead. I established early on that I use unreliable narrators. Thank recipe for insanity for being a great beta.


	45. Insidious

Matt looked over as L walked back into the waiting room. His hair was falling forward, and he looked like he had just run from Light's room, sweat trickling down his temples. L saw Matt staring and wiped his face coolly.

"Are you going too?" L asked. "He was equally unwilling to see me."

"But you went knowing that," Matt said.

L stuffed his hands back into his pockets. "I told you, there was something I had to say to him."

"An apology?" Matt asked, feeling a hint of antipathy rising in him that was not nearly as extreme as his past dislike for L.

To his surprise, L nodded. "It accomplished nothing. I didn't expect it to."

Near broke the silence that settled after that remark. "If you want to go, there are still ten minutes." Neither he nor L had taken very long, after all.

Matt stood up. "I'll just look. I won't go in."

They waited for a nurse to lead him back there, not wanting to antagonize the staff into barring Light from visitors again. When they reached the door, Matt peered around it. The nurse stopped walking, a question in her eyes.

"I just wanted to see him," Matt whispered. She shrugged and remained in the hall with him.

The man inside the door said softly, "He's getting anxious. Please don't disturb him further. He's in a delicate state."

"I know," Matt said, his eyes on the nearest bed.

Their soft conversation had not created any change in the shape he could see under the covers. A thin curtain blocked Light's face from this angle, but Matt could see the fingers on one hand, the only exposed skin that he could see.

"I won't go in," he repeated.

It was not that he did not want to. The whole situation brought back bad memories. Mello had died somewhere far away from him, and Matt had been sleeping, no less. He had only heard about it while eating breakfast on what became the worst day of his life.

If something bad was going to happen again, he wanted to be awake and alert for it. He wanted to see it coming and find the time to say or do anything he needed to.

Not that he really knew what any of that might be, but he wanted to be there.

"What time do visiting hours start?" Matt asked.

Light was in there, alive and not dying, at least not yet. He was not going anywhere. The nurse in the hall told him the hours, and with a final backward glance, he walked back down to Near and L.

He was not going to make it worse for Light. He, Matt, was fine for now. Light did not have to suffer to ease his conscience. It was one thing to tell L that he didn't care about Light's wishes. It was another to contemplate going in there and finding that he had no words, no reason for inflicting his selfish wants on Light.

Part of him wondered if waiting a day would make any difference.

* * *

Light drifted off late that night. Or morning. It was hard to tell the time when he woke. English spring days were still short, so the murky light that managed to get into the room seldom gave him any indication of time.

It was driving him mad. He was trapped in some timeless hole, like that wretched sleep deprivation exercise L had put him through. What a colossal waste of time. Time, time, everything was about time. He had not had enough time to bleed out in the car. He had not had time to drive further away from Winchester, urgency pushing him to complete the task while he still had both the energy and desire to do so.

Now he had too much time on his hands. He could think endlessly about how he would do it differently if he had another chance. He fixated on his humiliations, about the possibility of not having the use of his hands for the rest of his too-long life. It was hard to concentrate on one thing for very long, but the thoughts surfaced constantly.

Thanks to Near, he could think too much about Mr. Wammy being dead. Had it really happened right after he walked out?

His right hand twitched suddenly, sending shocks up through his arm. Always worried that he was ripping the stitches out, Light studied the bandages. His left arm was burning, but it always felt like it was on fire no matter what they gave him. His right was starting to itch, and that might have been worse. His ruined fingers could not scratch it, and he could not reach anything through all the dressings. Instead, he laid his left arm atop the itching on his right and pressed down hard. Maybe pressure would ease what fingernails could not.

Black stars and a wash of red across his vision warned him off that course. Something snapped. He could not be sure whether it was in his arm or in his head. Maybe he would give himself a stroke. If only he could be so lucky.

Someone brought in his next round of pills. His head felt thick and cottony already, but he did not want to be trapped here forever. If he took his pills like a good boy, they might let him go free; then no one could tell him what to do.

No amount of sleep ever felt like enough, and it took serious effort to remember how to swallow once he had the tablets in his mouth. After a false start or two, he got them down. The nurse noticed his discomfort and asked him a few questions. She was not even one of the counselors, but he answered and put his head back on the pillows.

His face felt hot, usually a precursor to vomiting. He shook his head when the nurse mentioned food. He really did not want to throw up again. He would save that for when they checked his bandages. It was almost like clockwork. See ruined arms; throw up.

Funny, his left arm looked strange. It was too big under the bandages, and his skin felt tight and hot rather than just the usual burning. Even his barely-exposed fingers seemed larger.

He could not sleep through this new irritation, so if they were going to keep him here, he wanted it gone. Maybe they could just cut off his damn arm like they had already talked about. There had been a tourniquet around it when he got to the hospital. He only knew that from asking once he saw the band of blackened bruises around his bicep.

The arm was a loss. His fingers were completely numb, and he could not move them even if he wanted to. One doctor said he might still regain feeling in time, but Light did not know yet how he felt about that, probably thanks to the drugs. He was not sure how he felt about much of anything, except L.

Sorry? L was sorry? Now, after so many months? He should go trying to kill himself more often if it got that bastard to treat him like an equal, or at least someone worthy of truth or respect.

Trying to ignore the fact that he still cared about L's impression of him, he shifted so the guard inside the door looked up. He could not push the call button, forcing him to talk every time he needed something. Humiliating. One more agony on top of so many others. Light told him he wanted to see a nurse about his arm, and the man got someone's attention outside.

By the time someone else arrived, the bandages on his left were changing color in places. A yellowish cast appeared in spots rather than the blood Light was all too accustomed to.

He kept silent through the next hour's manhandling, watching while they exposed the more artful of his self-abuses. The trenches from above his elbow through the middle of his palm were black and red and puffy, the raised edges dry and scaly in places and weeping in others. Thick threads and knots pulled the edges of his skin toward each other, shiny meat showing in the gaps.

Everything inside him was forcing its way out, squishing through the gap he had opened. His skin could no longer contain him. Yellow crust surrounded at least two stitches that had torn out, and the flesh puckered around the remaining ones. Visions of the remaining stitches snapping and tearing through his dead flesh made his stomach flutter madly.

Normally they would have shielded him from the sight, but something was wrong. He answered whatever questions they asked, their own conversation sliding off him unheard as he stared, transfixed. Swabs were taken and other staff members consulted, yet he still could not bring himself to beg that they just cut it off.

That _thing_ attached to him was disgusting. With nothing but pain to remind him of its presence, it felt like someone else's decaying arm had been sewn onto his elbow.

Someone finally said the words he had been dreading, and he wanted to shout that of course it was, of course every possible thing was going wrong. Rather than picking the time, place, and method of his death, he was going to die slowly as some potentially incurable infection set in. In the meantime, he would be visited by an endless stream of the people he was trying to escape from. Eventually, his family would probably show up too.

It probably would not kill him before they got here.

Once his room was empty again except for him, his guard, and the invisible patient on the other side of the curtain, he put his head back and shut his eyes hard. He could not run or hide or even cover his face. Everyone could watch him die.

MRSA was not the clean, efficient kill that he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No betareader henceforth, so all mistakes are mine.


	46. Forward

Near was quieter than usual at breakfast that morning. He no longer kept his overnight schedule, so Matt saw him more often during meals.

That wasn't the only change. The kitchen was awash with buttery yellow sunlight, almost too bright. After so many months of winter's gray clouds, short days, and dim light, the return of the sun was almost painful. Clouds still managed to block it out sometimes, but the wind kept blowing them out of the way. Outside the kitchen, the halls were noisy with children heading between classes. The house had lost its hush in the wake of Wammy's death. Most of the residents were children under ten, and they wouldn't know how odd it felt for the house to be empty of the man who had directed operations for so long. That melancholy quiet could not last forever.

It bothered Matt. He didn't want to work in his ops center by himself all the time anymore, so he had brought his laptop indoors. All the distractions, from the sunlight to the noise, had made that pointless. It was still shut next to his elbow. He checked the time compulsively, but the hospital's visiting hours had opened an hour ago.

Instead of heading out to the car, he flipped through the newspaper, his glazed eyes skimming the headlines. Glancing over at the breakfast nook, he saw that Near wasn't doing much better. The boy was fitting puzzle pieces together and taking them right back apart, his tea and scone from over an hour ago still mostly untouched.

He didn't even know what Near was doing anymore as far as work. Without L working on a case abroad, Near's expertise went wasted. Maybe that was why, more often than not, Matt had seen him reading in the library.

He almost checked the time again before he stopped himself. He had been best friends with Mello, and had Mello been in the hospital, Matt would not have hesitated to visit him. No matter his mood, Mello would never have thrown Matt out. With Light, he wasn't sure he wanted to risk it. Their friendship, camaraderie, whatever it was, was still new. Would his concern only annoy Light?

He didn't want to wind up like Light and L. He was no fool; even as socially inept as he was, he could see L was doing it wrong. L had tried to break Light into something he could use, just like Wammy House had made them all fit the mold that they needed to. It was all L had known how to do, but Light had fought him whether he knew he was doing it or not.

Matt had not fought when they were programming him. Had he even known he was being brainwashed until it was all over? It couldn't be normal for so many children to grow up with no ambition other than to be the best at the tasks that other people had taught them.

Despite freeing himself from the need to perform well in that cutthroat rankings system, Matt had never protested becoming the computer guy, the go-to person for all things technical. The only interest he had chosen for himself was video games. Mello had forced the languages on him, but Matt could see now how narrow his interests had become. L lived to solve cases in the same way that Near lived and breathed cryptography. They were creatures of math and science, nothing else.

No one created anything. Wasn't a pursuit of the arts or innovation supposed to be a sign of an advanced civilization? No one practiced painting, music, or poetry. They barely interacted with the city outside Wammy House's walls. Hell, not a one of them had been on so much as a date. What was wrong with them all? Had Wammy House turned out nothing more than a bunch of orphans with high-functioning autism or Asperger's?

It had to be all this newspaper reading. Matt folded the paper up and set it aside. For so long, he had pulled out the science and tech pages and discarded the rest without even thinking about it. Today, he was anxious enough to try reading it all, and it was galling just how little of it he cared about or was interested in. Was this remotely healthy?

He shoved the pile of discarded pages toward the center of the island, now his favorite place to spread out and make a mess. Near claimed the breakfast nook with his own puzzles and papers.

Before he could reach for his DS, he forced himself to his feet.

"I'm going to try to see him. Maybe he'll tell me to piss off, but...," he smiled in Near's direction and shrugged.

"Matt," Near said as Matt started to gather his things together.

Matt turned his head, but Near was still staring at the table, his eyes invisible behind dark glasses that he tended to wear during summer. The sunlight flickering through the clouds outside was probably blinding him.

"What?" Matt asked when Near continued flipping puzzle pieces over without fitting any together.

"What do you know about airports?"

Matt leaned against the island, bemused.

"I don't know what you're asking. Heathrow is closest. They're big? They're usually full of people?"

"How do I get anywhere?"

"I came here when I was four. I don't remember where anything is in there." _And I sure as hell haven't been anywhere since I got here_ , he thought with chagrin.

"Not that. I need to… buy tickets beforehand… and have a passport, correct?" Near was very carefully pressing the pieces together now, as if it required all of his attention.

Matt's eyebrows shot up.

"Yes, you need to bring a passport. Unless you want to hang off the wing, you might consider tickets too."

"How do I get them?" Near asked so softly that Matt wasn't sure he heard him right. "I do not know what do once I am in the airport."

Matt had to stifle a laugh. Yes, they were all barely functional adults, as if he needed the reminder.

"I'll help you when I get back, okay?"

"Alright," Near said in that tiny voice, the pieces clicking into place louder than his words.

Matt waited for him to ask anything further before collecting his laptop and goggles.

"Where are you going?" Matt had to ask before he left.

"Somewhere else," Near replied without missing a beat. "Would you consider Light your friend?"

"I think so. I really don't follow you," he said. This conversation was getting bizarre.

"Then it must be me. I will see you when you return," Near said, evidently closing the conversation.

Baffled, Matt collected his fleece vest from the back of the chair, shouldered his laptop bag, and left. Spring was truly on its way as he stepped outside the front door. The air was still cool in the shade and almost chilly with the breeze, but the sun hiding behind the flimsy clouds let little drops of warmth spill through every now and then.

For once, the grass didn't squelch with water under his boots as he left the stone path. He stopped once he got inside the darkened garage, half-blind from the unexpected light and unable to tell which car was which. There was still an empty space where they had made room for Light's car. It had probably gotten scrapped after the police looked it over. He knew L would never take care of it, and Roger was too busy.

Deliberately looking away from the empty spot, he pulled the keys out of his pocket. He had been using Wammy's car when he had to, but there was no reason not to use his own car today. He smiled a little ruefully. Mello wouldn't have kept it under wraps so much.

He scrubbed at his hair, then walked over to his low-slung car hidden under its protective cover. He peeled the cover off with something akin to reverence, then folded it up and put it on a shelf in the garage. He might leave it off after this.

Funny, the last time he had used the car, Light had driven him home from one of his wanders through town, although one a bit more maudlin than he had planned for. Maybe then he had known that he and Light would get along. He didn't drop his guard around just anyone.

Fortunately, the battery hadn't died, for when he turned the key, the engine responded with that low grumble. He pulled his goggles over his eyes and took off. Even the slow roads and traffic through town were a pleasure to drive through as the wind ruffled his hair. The chill was making his fingers go numb on the steering wheel, but he didn't put the windows back up.

By the time he got to the hospital, any nervousness was gone. He hadn't even had a smoke today, for they had lost their appeal lately. His whole life had been turned upside-down, so what was one more change? He was losing his job, possibly even his home in a few years, and Wammy House had been his life for as long as he could remember. He had lost another friend, a grandfather figure, and any possibility of returning to the way things were before.

Maybe it was just a good time to make changes.

* * *

It was almost noon when Matt reached the ICU. If he could only see Light for ten minutes, it hardly seemed worth the twenty minute trip one way, but he had to make sure things were… tied up. He also hoped he hadn't only been bluffing when he said he knew Light better than L. He didn't _think_ Light would kick him out, but he probably wasn't himself right now.

The nurse at the receptionist desk looked unsure when Matt checked in, and the man had him wait while he talked to someone down the hall. Matt stood there with his cold fingers buried in his vest pockets, reading the inspirational posters hanging on the wall behind the desk. They had Christmas and birthday cards tucked into the corners. When the nurse didn't return immediately, he contemplated just walking himself down the hall. He remembered which room Light was in, after all.

"They're moving him," the nurse said just as Matt started getting anxious again. "You did say Lucian, right?" When Matt nodded, he continued. "He's being moved to his own room."

"Right now?" Matt asked. "What happened?"

The nurse looked down the hall, then turned back, his voice low. "It's just a precaution until they know for certain."

"They didn't say anything about moving him last night," Matt said. Not knowing what to expect was making him nervous. He shoved his goggles back into his hair as the nurse started explaining.

It looked like Matt would have to wait a little longer while Light's new room was set up. The nurse placed a stack of things in front of Matt, clarifying that he would have to cover up because Light could have a serious infection. Matt's hands might have trembled as he took the stack of rough paper and cloth and retreated to a seat to wait. He had thought he would be able to walk in, have a really awkward conversation, and leave, never mind that he had no idea what he wanted to talk to Light about.

He spent thirty minutes trying and failing to play any of his games, flipping through the magazines in a stack on the table, and making trips to the drinking fountain. Finally, he sent a quick text to Near, telling him what he knew right now about Light and promising him further news.

Finally, the nurse came from behind the desk to get him. If he had called Matt's name, then Matt hadn't heard him. The nurse led him to a new room, smaller than the old one with only one bed. It was alarmingly bright under fluorescent lights with no curtains for privacy, the glass leaving everything exposed. Two men, one in scrubs and another in a long white coat, on the far side of the room were looking over some equipment, but Light lay by himself, his arms lying awkwardly at his sides. Matt couldn't tell if Light's eyes were closed without his goggles, but there was no way Light was sleeping in that stiff position.

Outside the door, the nurse directed Matt to pull on a loose gown, a papery cap that hid all of his hair, sticky thin rubber gloves, and the mask that covered his mouth and nose. Almost immediately, his breath made it warm and moist against his face. He didn't know how people could keep these on all the time. The nurse left, and Matt walked in, trying not to let his awkwardness show.

Light's head turned slightly toward Matt as soon as Matt stepped in the door. Matt realized belatedly that he was probably unrecognizable without his goggles and with most of his face covered, but he clearly wasn't a doctor.

"Hey," he said, smiling a little before he realized that Light couldn't see that either. Details resolved themselves as he approached, stopping well clear of the bed.

Light was looking at him warily, his eyes glassy and red-ringed, almost purple under the unflattering light. His cheeks looked unnaturally reddish compared with his sallow complexion. Was he running a fever? There were two bags hooked up to him, both full of clear fluid. Matt had half expected them to still be putting blood into him after all that he had lost.

"It's Matt," he said, trying to figure out what he wanted to say, why he was here. He was glad he hadn't had a cigarette if he was going to be smelling nothing but his own breath.

Light stared at him, confusion writ clear on his face. He turned his head toward the men in the corner before speaking in a low voice, "Why are you dressed like that?"

"They made me," Matt said with a shrug. "Said it was for your own good."

"Everybody has an opinion," Light said, looking back at the wall in front of him with an indecipherable expression. Matt followed his gaze. A small television flickered with images he couldn't make out, but there was no sound. Those white smears across the bottom must be subtitles.

This was something… safe.

"Can you even read that from here?" Matt asked, squinting exaggeratedly at the screen.

"Not really. I can't work the remote either," Light said.

"Want me to change it?" Matt asked, looking for the remote and finding it attached to a cord hanging from the bed. He caught a glimpse of the discolored fingers peeking out of Light's bandages and averted his gaze. He would have hated to be seen like this by everyone he knew.

"Go ahead," Light said.

Matt found a hard-looking chair against the wall, pulled it closer to the bed, and faced it toward the television. He sat down carefully, unsure how much abuse his outfit could take, and retrieved the remote. Too many hands and too many antibacterial wipes had reduced it to colored buttons with no writing, so he pushed buttons at random, the gloves distorting the shape of his fingers and making it even harder.

"So is it true what they say?" he asked, somehow stumbling on the TV guide and wishing he could actually read any of the writing.

Light hummed in response, a vague invitation to continue.

"Is the food awful?" Matt gave up trying to make out the blurry squiggles and reached under his cap to find his goggles. He pulled them down, accidentally trapping his hair in them and half-blinding himself.

Light made a noise that might be a chuckle. "It's… edible. Your food is really bland."

" _My_ food?" Matt said with a forced laugh, giving up on the remote and trying to get his hair out of his eyes without dislodging the cap. "Living here doesn't make me English, and I'm no fan of their food. Except curry, because you can't mess that up unless you try."

"Curry is quintessentially Asian."

"It's also a pub staple. Surely it counts as an indigenous food by now." Matt's movements had attracted the attention of the men in the corner, so he leaned away from Light further, hoping they wouldn't tell him to leave if he couldn't keep his cap on.

"Even curry would be awful right now," Light said.

"Why's that?" Matt asked.

"Everything I get is liquefied."

"What?" Matt said, forgetting and looking at Light's face for a moment. Light shrugged the tiniest bit without meeting his eyes, only his shoulders moving but his arms staying in place. Matt mentally kicked himself. Being fed by someone else would be the icing on this humiliating cake. "That must be awful."

"I pretend they're smoothies," Light said, a hint of a smile on his face. "Just fruit and vegetables and some protein powder. Having someone hold a cup is better than being spoonfed."

"So when can you escape and eat some real food?"

Matt finally got his goggles on and his hair back under the cap. Now that he could read the television, he started scrolling through the guide. He wondered if the lack of eye contact helped. Light was a lot more talkative than he had expected. Near and L had both been kicked out by now, so he should be grateful that he was allowed to stay.

"Isn't that the question of the day. Once I'm stable, they can put a…" Light sounded unsure about the word for a moment, "catheter in me so I can get antibiotics for a few weeks to kill the infection. I have to be able to change the bandages though."

Matt waited, using the television as an excuse for the delay, but he found he didn't have the courage to ask for confirmation after all. If Light couldn't even feed himself, there was no way he could leave soon.

The two men finally left the room, but they lingered on the other side of the glass, their eyes still flicking over the two of them occasionally.

"Near said… his funeral was yesterday?" Light took the need to make conversation out of Matt's hands.

Matt nodded then realized Light wasn't looking at him. "Yeah. A lot of people showed up for that and the graveside service. It was even sunny, for once."

"I haven't seen the sun since I got here," Light said softly, prompting Matt to look around.

The room was fully enclosed with no windows except the one facing the hallway. Light had a view of nothing but the nurse's station outside and the ugly industrial yellow and gray walls, all presided over by the sickly fluorescent lights.

"I mean since I came to England," Light said, apparently noticing Matt's gaze.

Matt shifted in the chair, trying to come up with something worth saying.

"Winter is an ugly time to get here. We don't always get enough snow to cover the ground, and the salt makes it brown. It's cold and rainy, and the skies are always gray."

"A gray sky might be better than no sky," Light softly, his eyes falling to half-mast.

"Am I boring you?" Matt asked, forcing himself to smile even if Light couldn't see. Maybe he could hear it in Matt's voice. Shouldn't Matt try to be cheerful right now?

"I have to get out of here," Light whispered, his eyes barely slitted open.

"Why?" Matt asked, knowing that there were better questions he could be asking if Light was willing to talk.

"No place to die," Light said so softly.

He looked like he was going to sleep. The man in scrubs came back in and looked at a display near Light's bed before stepping back outside.

Matt waited, wondering if Light had really just handed him the perfect opening. Did he have enough time left to ask anything important? He also wondered if he really wanted to know the answer, or what the hell he was going to do with the information, whatever it was.

"Do you still want to?" he finally asked, half-anticipating an explosion.

"I don't know," Light said, exasperated as if he was sick of answering that question. His eyes opened again slightly but his gaze remained distant. "I don't know what else to do." He leaned forward, making Matt shudder at what he was doing to whatever was under the bandage around his neck. He could still remember the open wound bleeding in the rain.

"Li- dammit, _Lucian_ ," Matt corrected himself angrily, glad the men were out of the room, but nothing coherent came out of his mouth. "You can't…"

He knew he wasn't doing this right, that no argument would work, but suddenly he really wanted to throttle Light. Could he be so damn selfish and stupid? But what the hell was Matt to him, or vice versa? Before he could say something he'd regret, Light spoke again.

"I must have… lost my nerve," Light said in a small voice.

He turned to look right at Matt, and Matt cringed. Was he ripping his stitches out right now?

"It's not as bad as it looks," Light continued with a desperate laugh Matt had never heard before.

Matt's indignation faded so swiftly that he forgot why his hands were clenched. Light lifted his arms clear of the blankets, the limbs stiff as blocks of wood from whatever they were strapped to.

"I couldn't slit my throat, couldn't finish the job. I did all this, then…" He made that high-pitched laugh again, then slumped against the pillows, his arms falling back to the sheets and his expression tight.

"What am I supposed to do now?" Light asked no one, his voice constricted and reedy as if he was holding up a great weight.

Matt didn't move, unsure what was going to set Light off. The remote slipped out of his nerveless grasp, and it clattered against the metal railings on Light's bed when it reached the end of its tether. Light flinched at the noise.

Matt's breathing was too loud in his ears, his breath too hot on his face. He was suffocating. He swallowed hard, suddenly seeing a woman in scrubs standing in the doorway. She had been sitting behind the reception desk earlier.

"It's been ten minutes," she said softly, looking apologetic.

Matt got to his feet with difficulty. His knees felt watery and unstable. He braced himself on the back of the chair as he turned back to Light.

"I have to go. Do you want—" Matt started, then changed his mind. "Do you mind if I come back another day?"

"I don't care," Light said in a normal voice, looking away from both of them.

"Thanks for not kicking me out," Matt said quietly.

Light ignored him.

* * *

Matt walked silently out the door, pulling off the cap and gloves as he went. It felt like he had swallowed a block of ice; he was all jittery and cold.

"Don't be discouraged," the nurse said, holding out a bag for the gear Matt discarded. "Some days he won't talk at all, so you did well."

"He was really strange at the end," Matt said haltingly as he pulled off the gown and dumped it in the bag. He didn't want to talk about this right now, but maybe talking would keep him from losing it in public. He pulled the disgusting mask off his face, wiping the greasy-feeling condensation off his skin.

"Some short-term medications make patients very… talkative. It will take months to figure out the right prescription for the long-term, and the infection is complicating matters." She folded up the bag once Matt was only wearing his own clothes again. "If the doctor lets him, he may be able to have longer visits in the future."

"Thanks," he said, only managing a sick sort of smile in response to her own.

Somehow he made it down to the car and got the door open. He collapsed awkwardly into the bucket seat, his legs hanging over the side and his feet on the ground. He fumbled a stale cigarette out of a pack he had left in the car ages ago. With a blue-tipped flame trembling in his hand, he tried to remember how to inhale.

It tasted terrible. He exhaled a blue-gray cloud of smoke, letting his arms hang loose as he slumped. Sweat was clammy on the back of his neck and his palms, and he felt nauseous. He didn't know whether he wanted to throw up, scream, cry, or laugh, so tightly was he wound up.

"Shit," he said, a weird laugh bubbling out of him. He had to laugh in the hopes that he wasn't going to be sick, or worse.

It didn't work. The cigarette fell out of his fingers as he covered his face, hunching over his knees.

It was a long time before he looked up, wiped the condensation from his goggles, and drove home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you say it, I know patient confidentiality would probably keep the nurse from saying anything about Light's treatment, but otherwise, it just looks like Light is totally out of character.


	47. Desertion

"Does everything look right?" Near asked.

Matt frowned at the computer screen once what he was seeing made sense to him. He did not have to ask what he was looking at or what Near's plans were. The destination told him everything.

"Are you sure about this?" Matt said, dodging the question.

"It has to be me," Near answered with a dodge of his own, but the set of his mouth betrayed his anxiety. If he could physically be any paler, he would be. "L… cannot do it. Mr. Wammy is not here anymore. Roger will not leave the children."

"No one _has_ to do it," Matt said. "There are…" he flailed, knowing how pathetic he sounded, "phones, or email."

Near glanced over at him, and underneath the fear, Matt could see something else. Determination? Perhaps only disappointment. In him.

"Are _you_ going to go?" Near asked.

"No. He wouldn't want this," Matt replied.

"It is not entirely his decision anymore," Near said quietly. "He is nothing like us.

"He has a family."

* * *

L did not know how long he had been staring out the window when the knock came, but he ignored it. He did not know when he had last eaten anything, or even drunk anything besides the cup of tea Roger had given him when they returned from the hospital yesterday. It was not sweet, but L had drunk it anyway.

He did know he was still wearing his suit from the funeral, the tie loosened and the shoes on the floor in front of the sofa, but everything else was still in place. The stiff fabric made sitting, scrunched into the corner of the sofa, distinctly uncomfortable.

He also knew he had torn off another fingernail, his third at least, because he tasted blood in his mouth again. His still-healing nose throbbed with his heartbeat. His cracked lips burned from all the salt on them.

He knew he was probably dehydrated by now too.

He did not know what he was supposed to do. Not right now, not later today, not next week. Next month or year was an unfathomable distance in the future. He was lost, so he sat, waiting for the first inkling of purpose or motivation and finding nothing but self-recrimination.

He had been avoiding the arrangements for yesterday's service practically since the realization that Wammy would not leave the hospital alive. He had not wanted any part of moving on after Wammy's death. He had let himself be swept along by the tide, but he had taken no active part.

That had probably been a mistake, for he had been unprepared for today, his future without Wammy.

Yesterday had made it all too real, the finality of it. Wammy's cousins, nephew, and brother-in-law had lowered the coffin into the ground, and L had realized too late that he should have been there as part of Wammy's family.

His hands should have carried his father to his final rest.

But L had failed Wammy even before that. L had proved himself incapable of relieving Wammy of some of his burdens toward the end of his life. He had not been willing to grow up, to let Wammy take a break from caring for him. L had _let_ himself fail with Light because he had known that he would still have Wammy to fall back on. There had never been any real risk, no real impetus to change himself or his way of doing things.

If L had known that ruining everything with Light would devastate Wammy, would he have tried harder? Could he have prevented this by learning to work with Light sooner?

And now Wammy was not simply gone on one of his short vacations to visit family. He had not flown out ahead of L to coordinate matters with a foreign intelligence agency or police force. He was not searching unfamiliar bakeries, looking for the exact right sweet for his spoiled adopted son.

He was just… gone, and L was alone.

* * *

That soft knock came at the door again, but L hid his face against his knees rather than answering. Wammy would have just knocked and come in. No one else wanted his attention for any good reason.

"L?" came Near's voice. "I am leaving."

L's back hummed with pain from holding this position. Of course Near was leaving. It was sooner than L had anticipated, but he had expected it. Matt would leave too, or he would adapt to a new, inferior occupation if it would help him keep his home.

L was the world's greatest detective only because he was so ill-suited to be anything else, and L could not be **_L_** by himself. That meant L Lawliet was unemployable and could only count on his investments to keep him from being homeless.

L could not work with others except through computers, and most agencies would not accept his help that way. Watari's role existed for a reason. L could coordinate with foreign entities, uncover and deliver evidence, and reassign their personnel himself if they let him, but he could not establish the relationship in the first place.

Without that, he could not work either.

He heard the minute shush of Near walking away from him. Only then could he sit back up and hold a hand over his aching head.

He needed Wammy. He could not do this by himself.


	48. Kindness

When Matt drove away from the departure terminal late that afternoon, Near almost dropped his bag and chased him.

 _Almost_.

A recorded voice blared from the speaker over his head, the words garbled by proximity and volume, and he flinched at the unfamiliar noise. Engines roared behind him over the constant splashing of tires through new rain, so many voices held loud conversations or made noisy farewells, and children younger than those at Wammy House yelled or cried for attention. Pungent cigarette smoke wafted by along with the smell of wet asphalt and perfume. People edged past or around him, one bumping him with a rolling suitcase when he did not move to dodge it. Water plinked onto his hair from a pipe somewhere overhead, startling him with its chill after Winchester's brush with spring.

It was a barrage, an assault on all his senses. He closed his eyes for a moment and hugged his bag tightly to his chest, wishing he had brought something, anything that he found comforting no matter how childish it might look.

Perhaps only the fear that even more people would stare at him kept him in place. Children were easy to ignore; adults were not. Perhaps the likelihood that he would injure himself sprinting after Matt while dodging people or trolleys stopped him. He was also unused to wearing trainers rather than going about sockfooted, so the probability of injury was high. The ludicrous cost of this ticket and his reluctance to waste it also kept him standing there, trying to calm his nerves and adjust to the new environment.

The fear that he might not even make it this far again if he turned back now was what decided it.

His motives in coming here had been altruistic, but his self-centered side threatened to derail his mission before he ever made it into the terminal.

He probably should have started somewhere smaller, like visiting the nearest co-op or petrol station by himself, not one of the world's largest airports. He seldom left the manor house at all anymore. He had gone into the city several times with his class as a child, but the growing rift between him and his peers put an end to that. He had visited Winchester recently for that arts festival with Light, but during the intervening years, he had preferred to stay at home with his toys, his books, his puzzles, and especially the predictability and the quiet.

Near had never seen himself leaving the house and traveling an hour away to board an international flight, alone, to fly to a country he had never visited before, alone, to then figure out a foreign mass transit system, alone, so he could visit total strangers with bad news, alone and likely unwelcome.

He could not bear to think about that now. One step at a time, or he would never even reach the plane in time. It was the only way he would get through this without curling up in a corner and trying to call Matt back here.

First, he needed to find his check-in counter. He gripped his passport so tightly in one hand that it was growing clammy. Roger had said he needed to buy his ticket online beforehand and then show this to the person at the counter, not simply attempt to buy his ticket there with the usual cash that Wammy House residents preferred.

His eyes finally fell on the sign for the airline that matched the ticket he had bought. He took a deep breath to steady himself then stepped into the crowd of people between him and his goal.

It was going to be a very trying day, and nothing good waited at the end of it.

* * *

Matt raced his Lotus back to Winchester after dropping off Near, hoping to finish his project and make it to the hospital before visiting hours ended. So what if he had already visited once today? He could not recall any rules about multiple visits, and he had something to deliver that really should not wait.

He parked outside the carport just to save time then bolted down the stone path to his lab outside the manor. He had a stitch in his side by the time he got the door unlocked, but it did not slow him down as he fell into his chair, breathing much harder than someone his age should.

He picked up the device that had been plugged into his computer, hoping it had not lost its connection to the internet or just powered down from disuse during the hours he had not been able to tend it while taking Near to Heathrow.

"Download complete," the screen read, and Matt sighed with relief.

In a flash of inspiration after visiting Light, he had managed to buy and fill most of an MP3 player with the short time he had. After a frantic purchasing spree, he had queued up tens of titles so they could download while he was away. He would have bought an even bigger player, but then he would have had no money left to fill it; Light would not benefit from a flashier device that had nothing on it. When Matt had run out of ideas, Near suggested titles while he and Roger discussed how to fly internationally.

Matt had never owned an MP3 player because he did not care about things that did not let him play decent games, but it should be what Light needed right now: a distraction from what looked like a lot of waiting and boredom. Hopefully it would also be small and non-threatening enough that the hospital staff would let him keep and use it. Matt grabbed the earbuds and charging cable, jammed it all in his cargo pockets, and dashed back out the door.

It was not until he parked the car and got into the hospital that he checked the time.

He had five minutes given the abbreviated hours in Light's new unit. Maybe the staff would be kind.

* * *

Light swam up out of half-dreams when the nurse spoke near his head. He had been in and out of dozes all day, unable to truly sleep in the unnatural quiet when any voices at all jarred him out of sleep. His wounds hurt too much to let him drift off easily despite how tired he was, and the antibiotics burned from inside his arms. There was no relief from the pain anymore.

"You have a visitor, Lucian. He said he wouldn't be long," the nurse said quietly.

Light cursed inwardly, knowing it would be L again even though he had told the man to go to hell in no uncertain terms.

So when he turned his head angrily, ready to demand again that his everpresent guard remove him, his visitor's appearance drew him up short. The red hair and goggles were impossible to mistake even with all the protective gear hiding his other features.

"Hey," Matt said, his eyebrows peaked a little unsurely at Light's expression.

He lifted his gloved hand to show Light that he was carrying something. It looked like a very thin screen with wires wrapped around it.

"I don't want to bother you if you're tired, but I brought you this," Matt said in a rush as the nurse left to give them what privacy she could.

"What is it?" Light asked, curious despite himself.

He was still unbalanced from the news that he had a visitor, and that it had not turned out to be L. Matt, and even Near, were not nearly as offensive as guests even if all these visits when he was at his worst unsettled him. Try as he might, he could not summon the rage that he had thought he would feel at this indignity anymore.

"It's books," Matt said. "I filled this MP3 player with audiobooks."

Matt glanced at the television, which was still silent with subtitles that Light couldn't make out half the time. So often, it just appeared to be some sort of panel shows, the news, or period dramas that he couldn't understand when he only caught snippets of them.

"That thing is useless," Matt said, tilting his head at the TV, "but you can just close your eyes and listen to this even if you can't turn pages." His eyes fell to Light's hands. "Um… I don't know if—"

Matt broke off abruptly and turned away, covering his face with his arm as he did so. It almost looked like he sneezed, but when he turned back around, his voice was still strained. Light couldn't see his face well enough with the mask, goggles, and cap in the way to know what was going on.

"Can you use your hands at all?" Matt asked in that thin voice.

Light started to shake his head carefully given the stitches in his neck, but Matt continued ahead, his words almost tripping over each other in his haste.

"It's a touchscreen, and it's really sensitive. Even if you only have your… your fingertips, you can operate it."

Light's irritation at having his solitude interrupted again melted away when he realized what was going on. He dropped his gaze to his hands because they were safer.

"I can move these a little," Light said.

His palms were always up given how his arms were bandaged, so he flexed his right hand just enough that his index finger and thumb bent slightly. He could not move the other fingers without pain or grip anything, nor did he want to, but if Matt angled the player right against his leg, he might be able to touch it.

When Light looked up, Matt's gaze was transfixed by the off-color fingers that emerged from Light's bandages. Light had grown accustomed to the faintly blotchy, disgusting sight of them. He did not look at his left arm anymore if he could help it. It only made the sensations coming from it worse.

Matt swallowed audibly before he held out the device. "Do you want me to try…?"

"Go ahead," Light said. "Will they let you?"

"I showed the nurse what I had, and they wiped it off before I brought it in."

So Matt set the MP3 player down against Light's leg where the blankets' folds would hold it in place near his hand. Light lifted his arm and resettled it against the device since he could not twist or reach toward it. The screen was slightly larger than a credit card, so it was big enough that Light could manipulate it even with his reduced dexterity.

"It works," Light said with a tiny thrill of pleasure when he managed to turn off the lock screen and slowly scroll the book titles. He did not have to move his fingers very much at all.

How meager his successes, and his pleasures, had become.

"It should last all night, even if it's running," Matt said, his voice still sounding off. He sniffed and set the charger on the table beside Light's bed. "There's an app on there that will just play white noise or rain if you need it."

Light concentrated on navigating the tiny icons, unsure how to respond to such generosity. What had he done that Matt would give him such a gift?

For that was what it was: a gift. It was not an extravagant tool, like the car L had bought him. It was not work-related study materials or a laptop that would help him do his job better.

It was something given to Light because he looked like he needed the comfort.

"Thank you. This will be very useful," Light said a bit woodenly.

He chose his words with care because the antidepressants could make him sloppy, as though all his inhibitions were reduced. He did not know how much of what he said was his own choice anymore.

"Sorry. I told myself not to cry. You see how that worked out," Matt said thickly, but it also sounded like he was grinning through his mask.

"Don't apologize," Light said. "I look forward to seeing what's on this."

"I'll leave you to it," Matt said. "I've gotta go. Your visiting hours are shorter here."

Light bid him farewell before asking for a nurse to put the earbuds in his ears. He searched through the many varied books until he found one more than eight hours long. The subject matter or narrative did not matter right now, but the narrator's steady voice even at a low volume covered up the sounds of the ventilation system, the nurses talking in the hall, the squeak of people's shoes, and the beeps he could hear in other rooms. All the things that disturbed his slumber and kept him suspended, awake, in this nightmare.

Only twenty minutes into the book, Light drifted into a sound sleep.

* * *

The next knock at L's door was more emphatic, and it jolted him out of an uneasy rest.

"Are you in there, L?" came Roger's voice.

Even through the door, the voice hurt L's head. He felt nauseated from a lack of food and water. His scratchy eyes could see just enough to tell that it was dark outside again, or still.

The doorknob turned and then stuck, for L had locked it and thrown the deadbolts for good measure, but Roger continued to twist the knob anyway. The heavy doors juddered noisily against the doorframe with each failed attempt to invade his space.

L would never sleep through that racket.

Roger called out his name even louder as L fought to extricate himself from the couch cushions. Everything ached and was slow to move, and he had to support himself against the sofa as he circled around it.

"I'm coming," he rasped, but his voice would never be audible outside the door.

He had to endure more of his name being called and more knocking as he shuffled on numb legs that started to prickle with pins and needles. As loud as Roger was, he did not sound frantic so much as annoyed. Thankfully, Roger stopped banging on the door once he could hear L moving.

L unlocked all the bolts on his side with shaking hands and finally got the door open. He had to lean against the frame just to stay upright. His feet were still unfeeling from lack of circulation, and he did not trust himself to stand on his own.

Roger took one glance at him and sucked in a surprised breath. L knew he had to look terrible. It just had not bothered him before.

"Your mobile isn't on. No one can reach you," Roger said, holding his phone against his chest to muffle it.

L waved away the comment without speaking. No one needed him anymore.

"It's Near. He wanted to talk to you," Roger said, handing over the phone.

L pinched it in his fingers and hissed a thanks of some sort through his completely dry mouth before turning away.

He left the door open so he could give the phone back as soon as he was done, but he scuffed painfully into the bathroom so he could wet his mouth enough to talk. The water from the faucet tasted terrible but soothed his aching throat and unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

"Yes?" he got out in something approaching his voice.

"Hello, L," Near said, his voice deceptively calm despite leaving the House that had become his entire life only a few short hours or days ago.

L did not know how long ago Near had left to judge how well the younger man was doing. He felt like he had aged decades since Wammy had left him.

Before he could open his mouth to ask why Near was checking in with him, Near continued in that eerily calm voice.

"I wanted you to know…

"I am in Tokyo."

L gripped the edge of the sink so tightly that his fingers cramped into claws.

"Near," he bit out without a shred of his usual composure, unwilling to believe what he was hearing.

"I will tell them if you cannot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This chapter came after a years-long hiatus, so these are my original author's notes)
> 
> Thank Danny Choo, creator of SmartDoll, for the sudden updates. He hinted very recently that he was developing an anime boy that uses a pen and notebook as a weapon.
> 
> My first thought – Oh, it's Light! I used to love Death Note. I hope someone I know gets him, but I'm kind of over the whole thing.
> 
> A day later – That head's not a bad likeness. Shame I don't collect vinyl. When is he coming out?
> 
> Two days later – I need to sell some things. This is going to be expensive if L gets released too. Say, don't I have a really long slog of a book about those two?
> 
> And just like that, I am back in love, and here I am, finishing long-dormant stories.


	49. Betrayal

"What are you going to tell them?" L got out through his constricted throat.

To think, Light had devastated him a year ago when he refused L's first job offer, yet nothing had slipped in L's expression despite his horror and disappointment. Not even Wammy had guessed, or maybe he had considering he had given Light his number.

The hallway let in enough light that he could see his face in the mirror. He would fool no one now. He would have more trouble convincing anyone that he was fine.

"The truth," Near said, his voice faint with static over the line. "All these lies are not helping anyone."

"Which truth?" L sneered, looking away from the sight of himself. His lack of control frightened him.

"That Light is hospitalized," Near replied calmly.

Near was unwilling to volunteer anything. Why had he even called if he was just going to torment L with fragments of information?

"You risk compromising my identity if his family comes. Light couldn't even tell them where he lived," he squeezed out through a mouth already going dry again. "Light isn't under his own name; Lucian works for Wammy House, ties that the Yagamis don't need to know—"

"You are worried about the wrong things," Near said without feeling and without sympathy. "It is unfair to keep them in the dark when this infection threatens Light's life.

"I have confidence in your ability to deal with this breach. Goodbye."

The line went dead.

L barely managed to close the phone against the counter before he fell against the sink. All the strength fled from his legs. Before he started dry-heaving into the sink, he pressed his head against the cool marble and fought to breathe in and out, nothing more.

 _Nothing_ more.

His thoughts would not listen.

Near was going to ruin _L_.

He was on good terms with the NPA, but if Chief Yagami let it spread that Light had been hospitalized after L requisitioned him, even if Light had made it look like he quit the NPA afterward… that might still be linked to L. Chief Yagami had talked about Light even back when L worked with him, and other agents had known Light as well. Light's health or death would not be kept secret long. The NPA might hesitate to work with L again, or they might refuse to let L use their agents directly.

Word would spread amongst agencies, and just as gossip had grown L's reputation, it would ruin him as well.

Even worse, Light would become a tremendous vulnerability if he lived. Light knew a great many of L's secrets and owed him no loyalty after L's abominable treatment of him.

L had killed threats to himself for less. It was not friendship that had earned him Eraldo Coil and Deneuve's names, after all.

The direction of his thoughts nauseated him. He was not about to contemplate killing Light, or even Near, to protect himself. He had not sent anyone to kill Beyond either before he died, and Beyond had even pretended to _be_ L. L's ruthlessness had limits, not that this gave him much comfort right now.

His mistakes had cost him his "Watari" and his replacement, Wammy, and his home in a few years, and now L's reputation was threatened because Near chose Light over L.

He swallowed the bitterness and surge of unexpected jealousy because he had nothing else in him at all. He forced himself away from his reflection before he punched it. He had no confidence in his ability to do anything anymore. Near's lies gave him no comfort at all.

He managed to get to the door and shove the phone back into Roger's hands.

"L, what—?" Roger started, but L only shook his head despite how dizzy it made him.

"I have to…" L trailed off, unable to form a coherent plan. "Thank you for… bringing the mobile."

Meaningless words, but hopefully they would get Roger out of his doorway.

Once Roger left the hallway to return to the main wing, L drifted out the door and down the dim hall to Wammy's room, nearly tripping twice over his unfamiliar shoes. He had not gone into Wammy's quarters once since that day; it felt wrong to go in when Wammy was not there. It would only make this whole nightmare real. He had not gone into the lab where it had happened either, nor Wammy's reading room, nor anywhere that made him think or remember.

He had gone into Light's room to gather information after his suicide attempt, but it had not had the empty quality that this room had. He had also lacked the emotional attachment to Light that he had to Wammy after so many years.

Once he unlocked the door and stepped inside, he realized he had no idea why he was there. It did not smell familiar anymore now that housekeeping had come through. It was dark without Wammy to turn on a light to read or make phone calls. It was not comforting at all.

L shuffled through the quiet rooms, looking for something that would give him even a modicum of comfort, something to get him through this next confrontation with Light.

He would think about the future tomorrow, or the week after. Not today.

* * *

L's determination to do something had dissolved by the time he reached the hospital. He had not caught or questioned Near's reference to Light's infection, so the news of MRSA had disquieted him further.

He didn't want to talk anymore if his silence would keep Light asleep. He just sat there, studying the damage he had done from the chair beside the bed. He had ten minutes to do so before the nurse escorted him out, and he intended to take full advantage of it even though neither of them would benefit from inaction.

Light lay asleep somehow, his hair still that unfamiliar mess. White earbuds to match his blankets trailed down to something hidden under his lightly bandaged arm and hand, the dark stitches visible under the gauze. The clear lines of IV fluid led to bags suspended over Light's shoulder. Light's left arm was completely hidden, from fingertips to above his elbow. Light had laid it bare, and L, in his carelessness, had dug his fingers right into Light's exposed flesh when all he tried to do was catch him.

How apropos.

What a terrible, unbelievable, colossal waste. L had taken his best candidate and destroyed him. Destroyed himself, really, for he would never try again after this, and without Watari, he would become nothing.

L had proved beyond all doubt that Mello was not an isolated incident. Matt had tried to assure him that Mello would not have held him responsible, not completely, but that was a lot harder to believe when L sat here, confronted with the pieces of his shattered projects yet again. This time no one remained to help him.

He had called Light's bluff a year ago and claimed he didn't have the will to kill himself. How monstrously arrogant he had been. _L_ had been the catalyst for this disaster lying in front of him. Left to his own devices, Light might have lived into old age: unhappy, depressed, and wasted on the NPA, but he would have lived.

Maybe.

What a rotten mess people were. He might have killed Light by walking away; he had also nearly killed him by trying to help. There was never any positive outcome when L got involved with people for longer than it took to solve a case.

L curled more tightly in on himself, pressing his aching head into his gloved palm and wrapping the other arm around his legs. His back spasmed from the abuse he had visited on it for the last two days, but he deserved it. He deserved to go without sugar, without food, without entertainment, without sleep, without companionship, without any comfort at all.

The only person who could have helped him was gone, and L had done that too.

He did not know how to get out of the hole he had dug for himself.

"Light?" he whispered.

For a moment, he had forgotten Light's other identity, had forgotten all about the subterfuge. Fortunately Light's guard did not hear.

But Light did.

* * *

The battery in Light's MP3 player had finally died given the quiet return of the hospital noise around him, but Light was peaceful and relaxed enough to stay in that half-awake state.

At least until he heard his name in an unfamiliar voice.

He had gotten enough sleep that even the counselors could not annoy him with their mere presence today. He hardly welcomed them when they woke him out of a fragile sleep, but maybe they would like what they heard today. Maybe they would let him out of this nightmare.

It was only when he blinked to get the person to come into focus that he realized his mistake.

This person had used his real name.

Only L's contorted position in the chair beside the bed gave away his identity. Light would never have known him otherwise.

All that was visible of L's face were his eyes, bright and spidered with blood, ringed in angry red flesh rather than the usual shadows from a poor sleep schedule. One eye socket was slightly blue from the nose Light had broken. Unlike the other time, it did not make Light happy to see it.

L's fingers dug into the cap over his hair, the sleeves on his gown having ridden up to expose the unbuttoned cuffs on his dress shirt.

Light squinted, surprised to see that L wore dress shoes and trousers as well. Was this what he had been wearing during his last visit too?

It was odd enough that his first thought was neither fury nor embarrassment. He still felt rested, and his arms were not aching yet either. This was the best he had ever felt in here.

"What do you want?" he managed without the usual animosity.

L did not move or respond with words, but he drew in a shaky breath and let it out.

It should have made him happy to have L at such a disadvantage for whatever reason, but he just felt hollow seeing L looking like this. He had given L too much credit for his composure and his deductive skills in the past. He had respected L even though L drove him crazy. It was unnerving to see him so undone.

"Could you plug this in?" Light asked, catching the edge of his MP3 player with one finger so he could flip it over his knee and into L's view.

L dropped his bloodshot gaze to the device, then he slowly unfolded from his crouch. He moved like someone in a great deal of pain.

Good.

That made a dark little corner of him happy, if nothing else.

L missed picking up the charging cable on the first try, his fingers clumsily skittering across the table's surface. They were apparently as useless as Light's were. He leaned over Light once he managed to pick up the charger and retrieved the little device, unplugging the earbuds so he did not jerk them out of Light's ears.

And Light had not even had to ask him to do so.

L shuffled toward the hallway window so he could plug in the charger beneath it. He had to brace himself on the window frame to get back to his unsteady feet, and he held himself in place for a moment like he had lost his balance.

What was wrong with L?

"Thank you," Light said rather than asking the question. He had enough concerns without taking on L's right now too.

L managed to pull away from the wall to stand on the side of the bed opposite where he had been sitting. He glanced down at his wrist for a moment, drawing Light's attention to a watch L had never worn before.

Wammy's watch, Light realized somehow even though it was half-covered by the rubber glove. He did not think he had given the older man's clothes such scrutiny, but he remembered seeing it when Wammy pulled on his driving gloves during a trip to buy supplies for the house.

He had forgotten for a moment that the older man was gone.

"There's not much time, but I have… news," L said quietly in Japanese, jerking Light's thoughts away from the black place they were going.

"And it is bad," L finished in that unfamiliar whispery voice, like he was hoarse from a cold.

Light was suddenly tired again despite the restful night's sleep.

"Is there any other kind," Light replied without feeling, making the question a statement.

L jammed his thumbs into his trouser pockets through the gown, pulling the fabric tight across his hunched shoulders.

"If you don't want to hear it now, I'll come back later, but you deserve to know soon," L said, his eyes slow to meet Light's.

Consideration, from _L_? First an apology, now this? This was getting too strange. What would he not have given for this kind of treatment from L weeks ago?

"Just tell me," Light said, letting himself fall back against his pillow.

He had not even realized he had sat up slightly when L spoke to him. He could not look at those eyes, that posture that made L look like a whipped dog. He did not want to pity L right now.

"I'll only get tranquilized if I overreact," Light continued with a stab at levity.

He had to find _some_ humor in this.

"Near went to Japan to speak to your family."

L's delivery was so rapid and toneless that it took a moment for Light to realize what he said.

That… that _traitor_.

"You can't be serious," Light said, but he had his answer.

L could not meet his eyes anymore. It was not because he was lying about it this time; he was just too ashamed to look at Light.

" _When_?" Light got out between his teeth.

"He called three hours ago to say he had landed. I came as soon as your visiting hours started." L swallowed. "I don't know when he plans to see them."

Light did not think about what he did. He just wrenched the nearly-dead weight of his right arm off the bed and smashed it into L's forearm in his awkwardness. L flinched so hard he nearly stumbled into Light's IV pole when his head jerked up. L's state was poor indeed if Light could catch him so off-guard, a second time no less.

Light barely managed to catch L's sleeve in his numb fingers before L could step out of reach, but the jolt of pain from using all his fingers made it hard to hang onto L. He had no strength to jerk L toward him, although he dearly wanted to just to get his words across when the older man looked numb.

L's eyes went wide with surprise even though he did not fight to get free.

" _Get me out of here_ ," Light hissed.

"Light," L said, his eyes going to the door and Light's everpresent escort. Light did not even spare him a glance. Something started a frantic beeping in the room with him, but he ignored that too.

"You're the world's greatest detective," Light spat in quiet, angry Japanese, hoping the guard did not understand the language but not _that_ concerned with secrecy right now. "Think of _something_."

L's eyebrows slanted downward sharply in anger.

Ah, an argument. This was how conversations between them inevitably ended.

"I won't be party to your death," L snapped, his voice still raw but not so feeble and meek. "I won't help free you so you can kill yourself."

Light's fingers fell, nerveless, from L's sleeve.

That was not… he had not meant to imply _that_.

L caught Light's arm before it banged against the metal bedframe. His grip still hurt, but not as badly as it would have injured Light to strike metal. L set Light's arm hastily on the bed as Light's guard shoved between them. A familiar heat and tingling meant that he was bleeding again. Damn…

"You need to leave," came a jarring voice in English from Light's other side.

Now that _was_ a familiar voice, his most frequent counselor. It must have been nearly time for his morning session if the man was nearby on such short notice.

"It's fine," Light managed to say. He needed to correct L. "Please don't send him away. I need to talk… please…"

Maddened, he saw the empty needle being withdrawn from one of his IV bags. He had been right to tell L that they would tranq him if he got agitated.

"He didn't do anything," Light got out around the sudden wooziness. "Ryu… tell them…"

"You can't touch him," his counselor said to L, ignoring Light's words. "Was that not explained to you?"

L looked overwhelmed by all that was going on. He just lifted his hands and cringed back, his earlier anger forgotten. Now he was that harmless, beaten dog again.

"I'm sorry," L said in anxious English. "He scared me. I didn't want him to hurt himself."

"Go back to the waiting room," said the man trying to block L from reaching Light again.

"Could I come back when he calms down?" L asked in that same pathetic voice. "I won't go near him. I'll just stand by the window."

Light blinked at L's even stranger behavior while another nurse turned his arm over to check the blood leaking through his bandages. Mendacity… indicators… something in his sleepy brain reminded him, and then he had his answer.

L was neither anxious nor nervous.

He was putting on an act, a poor one compared to his masterful handling of the car dealers, Light's father, and even Light in the past, but Light was the actor out of them, not L. L was somehow in even worse shape than Light, yet he was managing this.

Light's escort got L out of the room before anyone could respond to L's inquiries, but Light followed him with his eyes. Sure enough, L nodded to him from the other side of the glass before he vanished down the hall.

Light took a deep breath to relax himself, hearing how the beeping overhead slowed to match his heartrate. He needed to convince his counselors that he was no longer a danger to himself. He had to get free of this place.

He had to escape before any of his family found him here.


	50. Inversion

L dragged his gaze away from the transparent hope and desperation on Light's face. He might have just made promises he could not keep by acknowledging Light's request in any way.

He pulled off the protective clothing as he shambled toward the nurse's station, trying to get his sluggish thoughts in order. His head throbbed with every step he took in his hard shoes against the harder tile.

He needed to drink something. He was so dehydrated that he had nearly lost his balance twice in Light's room given the dizziness if he bent his head or stood up too quickly. It was a wonder he had been able to drive here without having an accident. Even now there was a dull roaring in his ears, and his vision kept blurring because of how much effort it took to make things stay in focus.

One thought kept circling despite his sorry state: Light wanted his help.

Despite everything L had done, Light still needed him for something, but L was in no shape to help anybody.

He was too far away to stop Near directly, and calling the Yagamis first would only make him the one to break the news to them. He knew he should be the one to do it, but Near inexplicably wanted this onerous task, a task that might expose L and ruin his reputation if Near said too much. However, Near too was raised by Wammy House and held the same notions about security that L did. Could he trust Near to protect both Light's interests and his own? He did not know anymore. L could not correctly predict the outcome of the encounter in his current state.

His thoughts spun in dizzying circles.

This was no way to brainstorm, and L needed his wits right now.

No cheesecake or biscuits. No desserts. He did not deserve treats or comfort. He needed real food, a shower, a nap, a change of clothes, and strong tea in that order. The fragments of sleep he had inadvertently gotten since the funeral had not helped him at all, but even thirty minutes of sound sleep would be better than nothing.

He rubbed the unfamiliar weight of the watch on his wrist as he left Light's wing. He would come back later when he was in better shape to deal with this challenge. Light's guard and psychologist would likely not let him back in anytime soon either. He was not running away; he was regrouping.

Even if it was L's first impulse, removing Light from the hospital might not be the best thing for him even if Light wanted it. L could not make a mistake here. Not again.

* * *

Near checked the address, knowing it was an excuse to delay this task but unable to stop the nervous tic. He had drawn himself a map before leaving the hotel this afternoon, not because he worried he would forget how to find the Yagami house, but because he liked processing things on paper better. Digital media changed too much and too often for him to be comfortable with looking at screens all the time.

The numbers on the fence across the road matched the one in Light's records, but only the numbers differentiated this house from the ones around it. Perhaps in full daylight, they did not all match, but at twilight, they sobered to similar pale colors and shapes even when Near lifted his glasses. They were so small, so tightly packed into this neighborhood with their tiny rectangular yards, matching fences, and identical walkways to the street.

He had expected someone as unusual as Light to grow up somewhere a little grander, a little more exceptional. Perhaps that was why L had gotten him out of here, because this was not a place where Light would flourish. That gave L a great deal of credit for magnanimity, however, which he did not deserve. Near never had asked why L had chosen Light. If either of them deigned to speak with him again, he would ask what had brought them, if not together, at least into professional acquaintance.

Near folded up the paper and shoved it into his pocket. He had to stop procrastinating. He had gotten himself through the alarmingly busy trains without a panic attack and made it onto this tranquil street; nothing remained except to do the task he had set for himself. Only afterward could he relax.

Before he could step into the street, the front door to the very house he had been staring at opened. A dark-haired man in a gray suit practically skipped down the front steps, his words jovial even if Near could not hear them well enough to make out. He even spun in place with his arms wide open to the amusement of a young woman that followed him to the door. She laughed, and he made some sort of elaborate farewell. Hers was more subdued.

Near drew his foot back, curious about this scene he was intruding upon. He had foregone his usual white clothes, so the dark gray sweater and black slacks would make him less noticeable in almost any situation, especially now that the light outside was failing. He had also bought a light gray watch cap to cover his hair; even that drew too many stares since his arrival in Japan.

Sure enough, the man did not even notice him as he left the front yard, waving a final time to the woman at the door. He was too young to be Light's father, and records indicated that Light had no brothers, so Near did not try to stop him from leaving.

The young woman who stood with her arm wrapped around her waist, her fingers making a more subdued farewell, had to be Sayu, Light's younger sister.

A sibling. Flesh and blood. A concept completely foreign to Near.

Before Light left Wammy House with the plan and means to violently terminate his training program, he had taken the time to write a note for his sister. That implied some level of concern, but Light had not once spoken of her to Near. He had never talked about any of his family for that matter, perhaps out of sensitivity because he knew they were all orphans.

Were they not close? Would Sayu even care that Light could still die without warning?

It did not matter. The phone records that Matt had pulled for Near showed that Light had called the phone number listed for this location almost every weekend since his arrival at Wammy House, though he had stopped even before he went to the hospital. The conversations varied in length but were never more than ten minutes.

Near had no family, and few people other than his teachers at Wammy House did. He had no frame of reference for what was normal behavior, but Light had made an effort, however paltry, to remain in contact with them. Therefore, they needed to know that his life was in danger, both from his own hand as well as the infection.

He stepped off the sidewalk and into the road before the young woman closed the door. It would be easier if he did not have to knock, or so he hoped. He tamped down the anxiety at opening even the half-height gate that the man had let close behind him after he left. Near already felt like an intruder.

"Please excuse me," Near said in Japanese to the woman's back as she took a step inside the house. "Is this the Yagami residence?" he asked, marveling at his ability to speak loudly enough for her to hear him.

She turned, that brown hair several shades darker than Light's slipping over her shoulder while she rested one hand on the doorframe. It was definitely Sayu; she and Light had similar bone structure.

"It is," she said, her voice cool, unlike it had been with the man.

Near stopped walking once he reached the bottom of the steps, hoping he had not already violated Japanese norms by entering her personal space.

"We're not interested in taking any surveys," she said flatly, her gaze flicking over him without animosity or welcome.

"I am not administering surveys, nor am I selling anything," Near said, stalling while he tried to remember his lines.

What in the world had he rehearsed on the plane? It must have fled his mind given the stress of interacting with so many people today, from flight attendants to ticket takers to the hotel receptionist to room service. He had so many planned scripts to make interactions easier but he had lost the thread of this one so quickly.

"I need to speak with the Yagami family… about Yagami Raito-kun," he finished. L called Light this even though Near never had; Near had been discouraged from using Japanese with Light.

Her hand gripped the doorway, but her expression did not change.

"Mom?" she said inexplicably in a louder voice, her words strained. "Come out here."

"Did he forget to ask you something?" another woman's amused voice came from behind Sayu.

Near flushed with the panic he had barely suppressed on the train. Sayu had guessed something was wrong already. Could his words have been any more innocuous? Why would she jump to such conclusions?

He fisted a hand in his hair through his cap, unable to help himself. He suddenly did not want to be here anymore, but the gate was closed behind him and he could not run.

Before he could say anything, an older woman with salt and pepper hair pulled the door open the rest of the way, her expression happy until she caught sight of Near. It was Sachiko, Light's mother.

"He's here about _niichan_ ," Sayu's voice broke on the last.

She turned on one heel and vanished inside the house, leaving her mother in the doorway.

"What—?" Sachiko started, looking after her daughter and then back at Near. "It can't be…"

Her stricken expression finally forced out words, any words, any rehearsal he had done forgotten.

"Light is alive," Near said quickly, letting go of his hair and raising his hands in front of him to forestall any more confusion. He forfeited any attempt at phrasing this how he wanted or avoiding messy emotional displays.

Sachiko sagged visibly against the doorway. She said something under her breath, perhaps a prayer or mantra.

"He _is_ in the hospital," Near added. "He could not inform you, so I came instead. I am sorry my presence gave you the wrong impression."

"Come in," Sachiko said suddenly, pushing away from the door. "The porch is no place to discuss this."

Near stepped inside when she backed up, but she hastened up a set of narrow stairs near the door, calling Sayu's name. She left him standing in that recessed entryway with no idea what he was supposed to do. Surely he was not supposed to follow her.

He removed his dark glasses so he could see the inside of the house now that the sun was no longer in his eyes. He could not recall whether or not it was rude to wear a hat inside a home here, so he pulled that off as well and worried it between his hands rather than twirling his hair again.

When he looked where Sachiko had retreated, his gaze landed on the photos that led up the stairs. He could pick out Light's fair hair immediately even though he must have been much younger. He looked so different without the long hair and shadowed eyes. He was flashing a badge at the camera in one photo and gazing sheepishly to one side. So Light and his father were with the police? Perhaps L had hired Light during an investigation.

Near might have looked through various public databases to get enough photos to recognize Light's family members and get their address, but he had not taken the time to dig into Light's or their backgrounds as L surely would have. He had no need or desire to investigate Light, and he liked what he was learning just from interacting with him.

Or he had, at least.

Near found another photo wherein a young Light was grinning, an expression Near had only seen a hint of since meeting him. Most of Light's smiles were vaguely amused or self-deprecating, unless he was around L, and then they were always unsettlingly nasty. By contrast, younger Light simply looked happy; he stood in an empty tennis court with a racket in one hand and a trophy leaning on his shoulder.

Light would be lucky to even hold a racket again.

Noise at the top of the stairs drew Near's attention away from the photos and his own maudlin thoughts.

"Was your journey long?" Sachiko asked as she led Sayu back down the stairs. At his nod, she continued, "Would you like some tea? I still have some ready."

She gestured for Near to follow her through that warm, well-lit house, past a small piano pushed against one wall and a bookcase packed with nearly identical tomes whose titles he could not read as he passed. Purses and several colorful scarves draped over the top of the shelf, lending color to the space along with a vase of lilies next to them. The sweet scent of jasmine rice wafted out of the kitchen toward them and mingled with the flowers.

Near was suddenly reminded that he had skipped breakfast since he had eaten dinner right before catching a few hours of sleep at the hotel.

Within a few moments, he was seated at the table with a narrow cup with no handles full of green tea. It seemed wrong to ask for milk, and she did not offer it, so he sipped at it plain. Sayu leaned against the wall, still dabbing at her red eyes with tissues, and Sachiko sat down across from Near with her own tea.

"Is Yagami Soichiro-san not home?" Near asked, reluctant to have a discussion with only half the family.

"Work has been keeping him late this week. We don't know when he'll be home," Sachiko said. "You seem to know us…"

"Forgive me," Near said quickly. "My name is Nathaniel, and I work with Raito-kun."

It was the easiest excuse, and he did not know how much he wanted to divulge about living conditions at Wammy House. Better if they just thought him a typical coworker, not someone who lived next door as well. As for his name, it was close to his real one, and he did not want to give a name associated with Wammy House.

If he could just speed past all the time-wasting pleasantries, he might actually get out the reason for his visit.

"You said he _is_ in the hospital?" Sayu asked immediately, taking the decision out of his hands.

"Yes, he contracted an illness while he was there, one that is resistant to treatment. His health is not yet stable, but I did not want to wait. I am sorry," Near said when Sachiko's face took on that hollow look again.

There, he had avoided the whole issue of suicide and Light's reluctance to contact them. For all they knew, he had only gotten too sick to make any attempts at contact.

"We haven't heard from him in weeks. I was afraid…," Sachiko trailed off without looking at him.

Near realized the true extent of his error, approaching a family with at least one member working for the police. They had thought he was coming to break the news of Light's death from the start.

"Why was he in the hospital before he got sick?" Sayu asked, making her mother look back at her in puzzlement.

Near cursed his slip. His lines were all out of order and hopelessly jumbled. That was not information he should have given away right now. He kept his hands around his mug so he could not reach for his hair.

"I cannot say," he said evenly, trying to make it sound like he did not know. He refused to lie to Light's family about his health, but he would not humiliate Light by divulging too many details either.

Sachiko covered her face with her hands, and Sayu just stared at him, her expression curiously wooden but intense.

They already knew or at least suspected it. Near had not expected that they would so quickly arrive at the right conclusion. Had Light been suicidal before?

 _Wait_.

L _had_ said that Light wanted to die before they ever met. That conversation and many like it in the last few weeks had been so emotionally charged. Near had dismissed L's claim as hyperbole back then, but had L been telling the truth?

Whatever had possessed L to take on Light as a protégé if he knew that? Surely he had not thought he could fix such a problem.

But of course he had. L had the strangest mix of arrogance and hopelessness about his abilities. No wonder L was devastated. A great many things suddenly made more sense to Near.

"Can I see him?" Sayu asked, pushing away from the wall so she could lean over the table. "School is on break right now. I'll never get a better chance."

Near resisted the urge to shrink back at her approach, barely. She wanted to see Light right away? That had not been part of Near's scripts or his plans. He had only come to break the news. Some part of him had thought the Yagamis might travel to England if Light was released from the hospital, but Near would have been long gone by then. He had hoped he could fly back in his own time once he had recovered from the stress of this conversation and international travel.

He had meant to impress on them the severity of Light's illness, but he had not planned for anything beyond that. Sayu's aggressive posture suggested she wanted to be doing something right now, this instant.

Was this urgency what made them a family? Even if Light had distanced himself from them, they were so eager to reconnect with him.

Instead Light had tossed this away, like it meant nothing to him.

Near could not imagine anyone caring enough about him…

"I will take you to the hospital if that is what you want, but his visits are restricted in his state," Near said, his mind made up.

He could not take them to Wammy House, but he would do nothing to obstruct them from visiting Light. He would find the resources to do this, surely.

"He is in Winchester, England," he said quietly, giving up the first bit of information that would infuriate L. "It is not a short journey."

"England!" Sayu exclaimed softly, her face falling.

Sachiko covered Sayu's hand with her own.

"My employer will buy her plane ticket if necessary," Near said quickly, wondering if he was interpreting their distress correctly. Surely an employer might do such a thing, and it seemed more palatable than him offering to do it himself.

If Sayu was in college and not working, she likely did not have large sums of money set aside for same- or next-day flights. Near did not either, but he did not have to pay rent or buy his food. Yet.

"He would not want the money to be an obstacle," Near added.

Sachiko and Sayu wore twin expressions of worried disbelief, but it was too late to take it back.

"Is his condition that bad?" his mother asked.

"It is fragile," Near conceded. "I would not want to instill false confidence and be wrong."

"Go," she said to Sayu. "Your father and I will come as soon as this case is resolved."

"Mom, my English is _not_ …"

"I could go with you," Near said, wondering who had taken over his speech faculties. This was so unlike him. "I speak English well."

This was getting out of control, but if he talked quickly, he would not have time to panic. Or at least he hoped he would stay calm. His palms were sweating against his mostly untouched tea, but that tell would not be visible.

"Pack your bag so it's ready," Sachiko said when Sayu still looked unsure. "Nathaniel-san and I will discuss your flight."

Sayu hurried out of the room and pounded up the stairs. Only moments later, he could hear drawers being violently opened and closed.

Near swallowed and wrapped his fingers a little more tightly around his mug.

What was he supposed to do first? He needed to change his flight and look up new ones since he had just foolishly offered to take Sayu. If she wanted to leave now or in the next few hours, he would have to as well. His bag was still at the hotel. He would need to pick that up and cancel the rest of his reservation, but only if he could get a flight right away.

When did the trains stop running?

What would a taxi from here to Haneda cost if the trains stopped?

Would they even find any flights this evening?

What if they had to leave tomorrow how would he meet up with Sayu would he get any of his wasted ticket money back hetrulycouldnotaffordtwomorenon-stopflights-

"Are you his friend, Nathaniel-san?" Sachiko asked softly, mercifully derailing Near's thoughts before he could work himself into a full-blown panic attack. Before Near could figure out how to answer that, she continued, "You speak about him informally."

Near swallowed the tension that had built up with a cautious sip of hot tea.

"I think I was," he answered honestly. This information was not worth keeping secret.

"We met for breakfast often and studied together even though he was very busy," he added, feeling the need to offer more information than he had.

"I'm glad to hear that. He had so few friends the last few years," Sachiko said a weary smile. It must be hard for her, trying to find out such delicate information from a stranger. "Does he like his work? He left so suddenly."

"Raito-kun liked the challenge. He did very well," Near said, "but I am not sure what changed recently."

He stopped because to say anything further seemed in poor taste in every way.

L had not been forthcoming about what had precipitated Light's suicide attempt, but anyone could see they had fought again, albeit more violently than they had before. Matt had supplied what he knew about Light's last morning at the house: Light had been strangely optimistic, not like someone on the verge of a life-altering decision. Wammy's sudden death had made so many other things pale in importance. Now neither Light nor L would discuss Light's reasons.

He could not tell Light's mother that he thought that L would remain impossible to work with. Perhaps Light too had only been caught in a holding pattern, and the fallout was inevitable if neither of them changed on a fundamental level.

"Thank you for telling us," Sachiko said quietly. "This can't have been easy."

"I could do no less," Near replied. "Could I please use your computer to see what flights are available?"

He hoped he remembered all the steps correctly when Roger was not here to help him with these unfamiliar elements. Would Light's mother help if he asked?

"I'll show you the office. I'm going to make Sayu some snacks for whenever she leaves. Could I make you something? Have you had dinner?" Sachiko asked.

"I would be most grateful for dinner," Near replied.

Every time his anxiety spiked, she said something to put him at ease. Maybe these tasks would not be the end of him.

He just had to focus on one step at a time. First: flights, then everything else…


	51. Boomerang

"We've got about twenty minutes until the train gets here," Sayu said after a huff and a glance at the map and timetable. "Phew! I thought we'd be cutting it closer!"

Near just clutched the straps on his bag and glanced around the crowded space. He could not speak because he was nearly out of breath from panic _and_ the brisk walking pace she had set.

He did not get much exercise from keeping to his rooms and workspace, after all.

"I saw some _gashapon_ outside. Mind if I check them out while we wait?" Sayu asked as if she did not even need a rest after all that activity.

"Some what?" Near asked.

He could not follow her words when his head was still spinning from the breakneck pace the whole night had taken on. They had left the Yagami house after Sachiko gave Near leftovers for dinner, and the long walk to the trains, the stop at his hotel, and more walking to this train station had exhausted him. If he did not manage to sleep on the plane, he might just die.

"Gashapon. Umm, they call them _capsule toys_ or _blind box toys_ on the internet," she said the words in heavily accented English, sounding unsure of herself.

The mention of toys jarred him out of endless rumination on all the ways that his travel could still go wrong from here. He had lost money paying fees to change his flight, cancelling his hotel reservation, and then buying Sayu's ticket as well. Their flight had two stops between here and home, and the prospect of so much time in unfamiliar confined spaces with other people almost made him queasy. His much-diminished bank account gave him no comfort in light of the upcoming changes at Wammy House either.

Yes, he would much rather think about toys right now.

"I will come with you," he said, turning from the sight of the crowded platform at night.

"All right. I forget you aren't Japanese," Sayu said with a glance over her shoulder. "Your words are more formal, that's all."

"I have not had much opportunity to practice," Near replied, though he would have spoken just as politely in English.

"Did… did my brother use English, then?"

"Most of the time. We practiced French and Italian as well," Near said.

He had been trying all evening to give both Sayu and her mother the crumbs of information they wanted about Light. The little details they asked for, unlike Light's location, were not worth protecting, and he felt he owed them for his sudden appearance and the bad news.

Sayu made a confusing expression as she led Near back up the steps to a bank of machines. They were mostly toy-dispensing machines with a few charms and stickers. Did parents often need to pacify their children with these before boarding the trains?

Sayu fed coins into one as if she had been carrying the change for that very purpose. He had thought they were only coming to look at them. As he shifted from foot to foot to ease his tired legs, Sayu twisted a gear noisily and then knelt after something thunked into the bottom of the machine.

"See? _Capsule_ ," she said, letting him have a look at the ball emblazoned with cartoon robots and girls in metal bikinis.

Near could make no sense of children's toys here.

Sayu ripped the plastic off and popped the plastic case open, then she sighed when the halves fell apart to reveal a diminutive but perfect robot. This was no mere toy, surely. It was much too detailed. Near wondered how many points of articulation it had.

"Is it broken?" he asked.

"No, but it's not gold. One of my friends will buy a gold one, so if I have change, I try for one. They're really rare."

Sayu shrugged with no shame at all as she slipped it into her purse. This was nothing like his past experiences with toys in public.

"What do you do with it?" Near asked.

"I have a couple in the newspaper clubroom at school, and I've given a few to my classmates," Sayu replied as she checked her watch.

Near dug into his bag and produced plenty of change given how much he preferred untraceable cash to using a card. They had a few minutes, and surely she would not laugh at him for buying a toy when she had just done so. He itched to hold onto _something_ amidst all this turmoil.

He chose the same machine she had, then he fought off the protective plastic so he could pry the halves apart.

"I don't believe it," Sayu said.

The overhead lights made it almost painful to look at without his glasses. Near's toy was more humanoid than Sayu's, and the gold finish made it look like real metal, not like cheap painted plastic.

"What are the odds there's another in there?" Sayu groused, squatting to stare into the machine.

Near smiled at the robot resting in his hands, feeling something like happiness wash over him for a moment. The toy was splendid, smaller yet finer than the ones he had bought back at home. He longed to have a moment to test out its joints, but the train was coming to bear them to the next part of this trip. If nothing else, he could carry it along with his train ticket…

"Would you like it?" he asked, holding it out to Sayu with both hands.

She turned her head to look at him, and her eyebrows shot up.

"Are you kidding? Do you know how much that sells for?"

"I know no one who would pay me for it. I would trade it for yours," Near said.

Sayu stood and took out the toy that she had so casually pocketed, and Near packed the gold one back into its case before handing it to her.

"Thanks a lot, Nasanyu-san. I'm going to tell my friend so he doesn't buy it from someone else while we're gone," Sayu said.

"Go ahead," Near said.

When Sayu turned to send a quick text, Near studied the toy that he had gotten in return. The painting was exquisite, not the careless blobs that he disliked on so many of the miniature toys he ordered online. He bent the joints to see how well they moved and imagined how it would fit in with the rest of his collection. It was small enough he could easily put it on his tray table on the plane.

He kept it clutched in his hand where no one could see it while they swiped through the turnstiles and waited in silence on the platform. He ran his thumb over the detailed surfaces to distract him from the lines before they checked in at the airport. He relinquished it when they passed through security, but he kept it with him again after that.

Perhaps the toy made the rest of the travel bearable, for the trip back did not rattle him as badly it had that morning.

* * *

Sayu swapped seats with the man next to Near on the plane, and she did it so casually, as if it was nothing to ask for a favor from a stranger. She then gave Near some of the snacks that Sachiko had packed for her once the plane was airborne. Much like the leftover tuna, pickled vegetables, and soup Sachiko had made him for dinner, the _onigiri_ with sesame seeds and plum were unlike anything Near had eaten before. He was not a picky eater, content to eat whatever the cooks at Wammy House made, but the oddness of the food intrigued him more than it put him off.

More intriguing was Sayu and Sachiko's generosity toward a total stranger, especially one that bore bad news. His upbringing had left him ill-suited to anticipate or reciprocate their gestures.

Sayu was nervous, for she often checked a photo in her wallet too quickly for Near to see it, and she drummed her fingers against her arm while staring out the dark window. Near had no idea what to do or say that would put her at ease, but for the first time, he was aware of that failing. It was not until she fell asleep that she looked truly relaxed, but even asleep, Near found her presence reassuring.

Between her and his newfound toy, his head was clear enough to ponder the next steps in this process, like how he was going tell her about Light's false name at the hospital. He needed to figure out what aspects of Light's working or living arrangements she should know and which they could conceal.

Near had not even wanted this responsibility a few hours ago. He had planned to stay in Japan for a few days and keep to himself because nothing good awaited him back in England now.

L would be furious with Near for exposing Wammy House or even L's failings indirectly. The strain might poison their already-distant working relationship.

And Light would probably refuse to see him again.

Back when Matt had dropped Near off at Heathrow, he had asked, "Why do you think it has to be you?"

"Light cannot hurt me like he can you or Ryuzaki," Near replied, his hands wrapped around the straps on his pack. No tells.

Matt turned to stare out the windscreen, his mouth tightening in response.

"Good luck," he said, meeting Near's gaze through his goggles before he pulled away.

It was only a month ago that Light had taken Near through the busy streets of his own city, somewhere Near had not voluntarily gone for ten years. Light's unflappable calm amidst so many people and so many random events let Near tolerate and later enjoy the atmosphere. It helped Near so much to have a companion that did not strand him to figure things out on his own. The city streets that intimidated Near for so many years were perhaps not that terrifying in good company.

The scenery had greatly changed in the last twenty-four hours, and the stakes were so much higher than a mere night out. However, somehow one of the Yagami siblings was with him again to share the burden.

Near opened his palm to reveal the robot he had so badly wanted. With a fond smile, he tucked it carefully into a pocket on his bag.

After a glance at Sayu, he closed his eyes so he could get that much-needed sleep.

* * *

L did not return within a few hours.

Had Light imagined his gesture as he left? Surely not. Nothing L did was an accident.

Light twisted around without putting too much strain on the stitches in his neck, hoping that somehow he had missed the sight of a clock on the wall or on one of the monitors near his bed. How long ago had L visited him? Two hours? Four? He had been given his "lunch" so it was probably three or more.

If Near only landed three hours before L's arrival, and at least three hours had passed since then, could Near conceivably be back in the air already? How quickly could Near give the news and his family respond the way Light feared? Light had looked up the cost of the tickets L had so casually bought him, and that was well out of his family's ability to afford on short notice. That would buy him some more time if they had to wait a few days for cheaper flights or deal with multiple stops.

Light's flight from Tokyo International had been almost fourteen hours, and with two hours to check in, another hour or so to get off the plane and through customs, and at least another hour by car… That was eighteen hours for travel if the flight was non-stop, so that was the absolute minimum amount of time he had to work with if he assumed they were already boarding a plane.

He had at least two counseling sessions a day, but he had missed this morning's because Dr. Martin, his usual counselor, had arrived as L was getting thrown out. The new bleeding and Light's "agitated state" after L broke the news of Near's treachery was apparently more important than Light's twice-daily interrogations.

Eighteen hours left him only two more scheduled counseling sessions to convince them he was safe to discharge, at least so far as his mental state was concerned. Could he get a third or more if he asked for it? _Could_ he ask for it at all?

What if he refused any further inpatient treatment and demanded to leave? No, that would definitely not win their approval; it would make it more likely that he was transferred to the psychiatric wing if he willingly endangered his life. His arm was clearly infected, and if the test results showed it was MRSA, he could be signing up for blood poisoning or necrotizing fasciitis or a slow wretched death from organ failure.

Light had wanted a quick death, not one drawn out over months of suffering. He had not lied to Matt; he was not sure what he wanted anymore, but it wasn't a lot of senseless agony.

If Light was going to be given all this time to think, he was going to use all that training L had tried to cram into his head. Had he been in the same apathetic state he was in while he worked at the NPA, he might have given up and waited for whatever was coming. He had L to thank for getting him out of that rut, at least.

Without L to help him in person, this was the best he could do.

He looked over at the guard, or more likely intern, who was assigned to watch him from outside the room now.

"Could I see Dr. Martin?" he asked, raising his voice because he still could not push the call button for the nurse.

Time to put that counterintelligence and interrogation training to the test. Light had practiced with someone a lot more savage than a hospital psychologist.

* * *

L came awake facedown on his bed, not his sofa. He had not slept here for what felt like weeks. For a moment, he was unsure where he was when it was so dark.

Dark?!

He groped for his phone to check the time, but it was nowhere within reach. There was no mistaking the fact that too little light crept around the edges of his heavy drapes.

L clambered awkwardly off his bed and shoved the drapes apart, wincing when a riot of muscle aches protested the movement after so many days of inactivity. Through the privacy film that kept his bedroom windows mostly impenetrable, the grounds outside gathered shadows in twilight. His shower-wet hair was dry too, so it had been hours. Hours! He had meant to sleep for thirty minutes. Had the days of endless insomnia and self-recrimination taxed his body too much to respond to his alarm?

The ache on his wrist finally registered for what it was, and he squinted at Wammy's watch, hanging heavily on his bony wrist.

Eight o'clock. Light's visiting hours were definitely over.

He had been unconscious almost eight hours after showering and forcing himself to eat the same lunch as the Wammy House students. Nothing about salad and soup appealed to him, but it was available when time was of the essence. He had even eaten in the kitchen rather than wasting time making a tray. In his deplorable state, the meal was probably healthier than a bowl of sugar cubes. He also would not sleep if he just ate sugar to feel better.

Now that he had gotten more than enough sleep after a drought, he needed sugar and caffeine _right_ _now_. He ripped the first clothes that he could reach off the hangers in his closet. He found his traitorous phone charging in his sitting room and started dialing before he even got his other arm through his shirt sleeve. It was still ringing when he locked his door and strode down the hall toward the kitchen.

L had lost a lot of time, and he needed to work fast while still making sure that he was doing the right thing.

"Matt? Are you busy?" he asked without preamble as soon as Matt picked up the phone.

"Nothing important," Matt said, and the music that had been playing abruptly shut off. "What's going on?"

"Find Near. I need to know if he's airborne and how soon I can reach him if he is. Also look for flights to see if any of Light's family have purchased tickets." L gave their names. "Are you in your workshop?"

"Yeah. I've got what I need here. So, what's going on?" Matt asked again.

"Not yet. I need to see what pieces are available first."

"Is this about Light?"

L raked a hand back through his hair to get it out of his face when he reached the kitchen. He did not normally discuss his reasons with Matt if he needed work done, but this was a special case. L would be a fool to ignore Matt's familiarity with Light when it was Light's health at risk. L had tried to do this alone and failed once already.

"Yes. He asked for help."

Matt whooped. That had to be the noise that made L jerk the phone even further away from his ear than it already was.

"I'll call you when I find anything!" Matt said.

L disconnected and called a different number immediately. He tugged tea out of the cupboard and tried to get a pot started with only one hand.

"L? It's been weeks. I was starting to th—"

L interrupted Aiber before the older man could waste his time with mock-pleasantries. L was already testy without caffeine, and the man was too chatty sometimes. He also always used L's name, which annoyed L to no end.

"What does your schedule look like for the next seven days?" L asked over Aiber's greeting.

Aiber chuckled on the other end of the line rather than answering. L could almost hear him sauntering around his balcony with the faint noise of traffic in the background, but Aiber did love his theatrics. The clink of ice cubes ringing lightly against glass let L know his guess as to Aiber's location was at least close.

"I might have a job in two days, but I'll put if off if you need me. Do you need me in person?" Aiber said, apparently deciding not to play with L this time.

"Possibly. If I contact you, it will be for hospital infiltration, and it will be short notice, perhaps twenty-four hours."

"I'll brush up on my medical vocabulary, then. You still in Winchester?" At L's affirmative noise, he continued briskly, all business now. "I'll clear my schedule and tell the missus."

L was just about to hang up. Aiber might even have expected it given the pause after his words.

"Thank you, Aiber," L said.

"Uh, you're welcome," Aiber replied.

"Bye."

Aiber was laughing when L hung up.

Light would be so proud of him, L thought.

He plugged in the kettle and slouched against the counter while he dialed Wedy's number next.

* * *

It was almost midnight before Soichiro came to the front door, and he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard piano music.

Sachiko did not normally wait up for him after ten, and Sayu had quit piano as soon as they stopped making her take lessons. Could it be Light?

He discarded his shoes and forwent his house slippers to get around the corner to the living room sooner. Of course, it was Sachiko with her back to the door, not his son at all.

He let out a sigh and slumped a little against the doorframe. It was completely irrational, but he hoped maybe the silence on Light's end was because he was traveling. He could always hope that was the case. He had tried dialing L's old numbers, but they were all disconnected, as they always were, and Light always called from blocked numbers. Light had left them with no way to initiate contact outside email, which he had gotten slower and slower to answer.

"Is Sayu asleep?" he asked, curious why his wife was playing if the upstairs was so quiet.

Sachiko shook her head. When she turned around, the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Her eyes were red, almost puffy with tears. She wasn't crying now but she had been for some time.

He took a deep breath and let it out. It was just like coming upon a crime scene. He had to get the emotions out of the way right now so he could do his job, even if that job was being a father or husband.

"What's happened?" he asked, reaching out a hand to her. "Where's Sayu?"

"Light is hospitalized."

He let the hand come to rest on her shoulder without conscious thought. As if it was someone else speaking, he heard his voice.

"Where is he?"

"England. Someone from his work came to tell us, and Sayu left with him a few hours ago."

"To England?" Soichiro repeated numbly.

The place meant nothing to him, but L…? Soichiro had trusted the man with his _son_. He had trusted _Light_ with his person. Was it just an accident or illness, or had Light finally done what they had all feared?

"I know," she said with a sick little laugh. "I asked why I let her go with him, but she wanted to go to Light. Light's coworker was sincere. I had no reason to doubt him, and I watched him buy their tickets here. She's safe enough on public transportation."

"Coworker," Soichiro said, still trying to figure out where things had gone so very wrong. "Dark haired, dark-eyed young man in his late twenties or early thirties?"

"It wasn't Ryuzaki." Of course. Soichiro forgot that L-as-Ryuzaki had visited the house when Light had that cold for days and Soichiro was at work. "This one was named Nathaniel, and he was short, pale, and perhaps only twenty. He was very shy, like he didn't get out often," Sachiko said.

"I don't know him, but Ryuzaki could have plenty of cohorts I don't know about," he said.

He had let Sachiko think that Ryuzaki was just a savvy independent investigator and contractor that the NPA and other international agencies worked with from time to time. It was illustrious enough that she could share Soichiro's optimism about Light's prospects. After so many years of being a wife to someone in the intelligence field, she had not asked for more than that.

"Did he say why Light was in the hospital?" Soichiro asked.

Sachiko shook her head. "He said Light had contracted an infection while he was already there."

Soichiro opened his mouth, but no words would come for some time.

"I'm sorry, Sachiko," Soichiro said. "I… made a mistake."

He did not know what to do from here. Without keeping Light under constant supervision, how could they have prevented this?

More important, how could they keep it from happening again? That prideful, independent son of his had isolated himself so they could not see his slow deterioration, and he had rejected help over and over.

"Sayu will call us when she lands in England, but they have several long flights," Sachiko continued, but it was hard for Soichiro to pay attention.

It felt like he was fighting a battle no one could win. Was this how parents of addicts or petty criminals felt? Was there nothing he could do so long as Light did nothing that would cause his long-term incarceration or hospitalization?

Light was such a perfect son; he did not _do_ anything that would warrant such scrutiny, and yet nothing Soichiro had done had helped.

"Stop," Sachiko said. "Stop whatever you're doing."

Soichiro swam up out of that morass at Sachiko's words. She had gripped his sleeves without him noticing, and she shook him to get his attention.

"This isn't the time. I've already written to cancel our cable and downgrade our internet."

Soichiro shook his head to clear it. "You've what?"

"I cancelled the paper and magazines too to free up some money. I finally put up Mother's jewelry and those," she mock-shuddered, " _horrible_ paintings for auction. I might list this piano again or figure out more in the next few days, but plane tickets over the weekend are impossible. Now solve that case or pass it off to Aizawa-san. You're overdue for vacation."

She sounded brisk and casual, but Soichiro could see the edges cracking around her scowl.

He pulled her into his arms and rested his chin on her head.

"You thought of everything. I'll talk to the team on Monday, and I'll help you figure out where else we can cut corners tomorrow."

That must have been the right response, for she hugged him in return. He had no idea what he could do in a foreign country when Light was an adult and could do what he wanted.

However, if Light had tried something and been thwarted, maybe it would scare him into changing. That was the only long-term good he could see coming of this.


	52. Connections

Matt finally called L around 10:30 that night. L had been staring into the depths of his teacup where nothing but sugar and cold tea slurry swirled.

"I've got what you wanted," Matt said.

L sat up straight, grateful for the distraction. He set the cup down and slammed his laptop closed so he could not see the photos of Light's Mercedes any longer.

Roger must have sent the spoiled thing to a biohazard cleaning service once the police finished examining it, but he had not told any of them. While Matt waited for his searches to finish, he found the invoice and pictures in Roger's neglected email and sent them to L. Apparently the car was clean, waiting to be picked up and paid for.

L could not ride in that car ever again. The photos declared that it was back to normal except some gouges in the interior, but his memories kept superimposing Light's blood all over the black leather and even the windscreen. A phantom scent of rust and meat lingered in his sitting room. No wonder he still was not hungry.

"What did you find?" L asked after he slurped the cold sugar just to get the memory of blood out of his mouth.

"The name Near's flying under. He _is_ already on his way back, but he has a layover in Frankfurt in a few hours and another in Zurich after that. I'll email you the itinerary."

L frowned. He had hoped that Near would inadvertently give them a little more time.

"And did any of Light's-?"

"Yep," Matt interrupted. "There's a Sayu Yagami on the flight too. Same itinerary."

"Just Sayu," L repeated, biting down on his thumb while he thought.

It was strange that Yagami Soichiro would not be the one to come. Why would the Yagamis send just the daughter? How would Light react to her? It was probably only a matter of time until his parents came.

He had an ever-shrinking window to work with if he wanted to honor Light's request, but he could not be careless. Light's wishes, and any goodwill that could be salvaged, were not worth compromising his health.

L would not contribute to yet another death even if Light wanted it.

"Then I have another request," L said.

Matt said nothing while L climbed off his sofa and loaded his tea tray back up. When Matt did speak, it was with a confused little laugh.

"Who are you, and what you have you done with L? Stop being considerate. It's going to make me think well of you or something."

L almost smiled. Almost. Levity was very hard-won right now.

He edged out his door and set the tray on the floor so he could lock his suite behind him. It was hard to pick it back up with one hand, but he was not about to tuck his phone against his ear. He was still achy and weak from all those days he had neglected himself.

"Then get access to Light's records at the hospital. I want his prognosis or treatment plan. Notes from the counselor. Anything you can find," L said rather than acknowledging Matt's comment aloud.

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Matt asked, his friendly tone failing him now.

L weighed the tray in his hand as he walked. He asked for assistance or favors easily enough from Aiber or Wedy or even foreign police agencies, trusting that his reputation would smooth the way. He was more used to giving the Wammy House operatives orders without explanation. It was mostly his work they supported, after all.

Even Wammy had often tolerated it.

L could well imagine Light's reaction to being ordered around if he had the spirit he had so briefly possessed when they first met. It would not be pretty. To think, L had perversely wanted the challenge of making Light into what he needed, but then L lost all control once Light basically gave himself into L's possession.

"Light wants to be released before his family arrives, but Sayu getting here so soon complicates things. I need to know when he'll be stable enough to move," L said, gripping the tea tray more tightly.

L heard clicking on Matt's end for a long moment.

"Two problems. One: this is a terrible idea, especially if he has MRSA," Matt said quietly.

"I won't move him if he does," L replied.

"Good. Two: I doubt the files you want are stored anywhere but locally. You might need to get them on-site," Matt continued.

"Then I'll visit tomorrow if you can give me or Wedy something that will get access," L said.

"Wedy's here?" Matt's voice perked up.

"She's leaving within a few hours," L said.

Her family had a company jet that she could use with some wheedling given their business contacts in the UK, but she was still going to ask for considerable "travel expenses" because L wanted her there on short notice. It certainly was not because Winchester was not far from Mayfair's shopping. Aiber lived across the Channel and asked for nothing but reimbursement for travel and any gear he needed. They had very different priorities.

"Right! Hope she remembers peanut butter M&M's and Oreos," Matt said.

L was looking forward to Ghirardelli squares himself, not that he would tell Matt or Wedy that.

"I'll have more tasks later once I know Light's status," L said instead.

"You're lucky I'll stay up late. Bye," Matt said in a rush before hanging up.

L shoved the phone back in his pocket to free up that hand. He had been ignoring it during their conversation, but his back did more than ache. Even carrying the meager weight of his tray made little stabs like needles travel up his spine.

Once he got to the kitchen, he would find the pressure points to relieve the pain. After a few more days of sleep, meals, and moving around, he would be fine. Shiatsu had always worked in the past.

There were more important tasks that he needed to focus on right now. He might have to contact the facility where he had recuperated after the accident with Mello. His back pain itself had given him this idea, although he was not going for his own sake.

This whole project was not an area where L excelled. He delighted more in figuring out how things had already happened, not spinning lengthy scenarios out of whole cloth and choosing the best agents to make the lies reality. That was where Mr. Wammy had aided him.

If only L had tried to do all this sooner, he might have had Light's help instead. L needed to visit him tomorrow. Hopefully he had not been barred from coming back.

* * *

It was both easier and harder to talk to Dr. Martin now.

Light's primary psychologist had come yesterday afternoon as soon as he was able, for Light had seldom been forthcoming or even cooperative during his sessions. Dr. Martin must have sensed that something had changed and altered his schedule to meet with Light. In an effort to prove that he was of sound mind, Light answered his questions rather than glaring into a corner or deflecting the inquiry.

It was easier to talk to him because Light had a reason to do so now, but his medication made him _want_ to talk too much. That made it harder because he had to be careful what he said. It mortified him to think of what he had so casually told Matt the first time he visited.

In some ways, Light's dialogue with Dr. Martin was like his first real talk with L in Aoyama. Back then, Light had been so drunk he could barely walk or think straight, but he had been as chatty then as he let himself be now.

This definitely ran counter to his training. Counterintelligence training like L had demonstrated demanded that Light obfuscate the truth with a mix of partial truths, outright lies, and misdirection. Light knew how to do it even around the lowered inhibitions that the medication inflicted on him, but the truth was useful once he saw how he could manipulate it.

He just had to convince Dr. Martin that his suicide attempt was an isolated, unplanned incident and that he had no desire to actually die.

So Light admitted that he had decided to kill himself after a violent argument with his supervisor because Light had feared losing his job. He also said that he had not made any suicide attempts before. He had been drinking when he did not normally drink at all. He had seized on the tools at hand rather than planning meticulously. He had grown increasingly desperate because he did not want to survive what he was doing to himself.

Most of all, he emphasized that he had done it because he did not know what else to do. Light did not know how to make the depression and hopelessness go away. He did not want to _die_ , but he did not know how else to escape.

It had been mortifying to say all that, but it was necessary if he wanted to get out of the hospital.

Dr. Martin had been very pleased yesterday with his cooperation, but that morning brought more difficult questions that Light was less prepared for.

Rather than asking about Light himself, Dr. Martin asked about Light's visitors. Because it was probably another point in his favor that he had visitors at all and had not barred them from visiting, Light lied and said they were his friends from work. He did not consider them friends after Near's foolishness and the utter awkwardness of L, but Matt might be an acquaintance.

He felt guilty though when he glanced down at the MP3 player lying in his hand. Was that really the behavior of an _acquaintance_?

For that matter, was L's job offer truly nothing more?

"And the one who was here yesterday? Is he a coworker too?" Dr. Martin asked, making him look back up from his musings.

"The one you made leave? No, he's my supervisor," Light said flatly. "We didn't argue this time. He only brought bad news."

"What was the news?" Dr. Martin asked, unrepentant about asking for private details while his pen scratched away taking notes.

Light cast about for an answer. If he said that his family might be coming and he wanted them not to see him like this, then Dr. Martin would ask why he was ashamed or why he feared disappointing them. He would ask if Light still thought suicide was his best course of action. Light did not want to discuss that because he was unsure how he felt even now despite his words.

If Light said instead that one of his coworkers had gone behind his back to sabotage his job, then the conversation might revolve around Light's hopelessness about his job prospects and his pessimism about the future. The best lies had an element of truth, so Light could spin Near's betrayal into that kind of story if he wanted.

Which one would make him sound the most clear-headed? Which argument would go further toward regaining his freedom? Or would it be better if he did not answer the question directly at all?

Thinking about L yesterday only brought one thing to mind.

"His father died," Light said softly.

He did not mean to call Wammy that until it came out, but L did behave like an entitled child around him. In return, Wammy had treated L with a depthless forbearance that made Light think of his own father. His father never turned away from Light no matter how much Light tried to pull away from him. Light took his father's patience for granted just as L had taken Wammy's presence for granted.

The L that Light had seen yesterday was still in his funeral clothes days after the fact, and the bloodshot eyes that looked so strange were probably evidence of tears.

L had been _crying_.

Light could hardly imagine it. He had given L so little credit for humanity or anything resembling empathy or emotions, yet L had apologized to Light and then made a herculean effort to treat him better yesterday. He had not needed to tell Light about Near. He had not needed to acknowledge Light's plea for help.

If Wammy's unexpected death had so altered L's behavior, what kind of hell would Light put his father through by killing himself?

"Lucian?" Dr. Martin asked.

Light looked up, unsure what the man had said in the last minute or more. Something about the doctor's eyes looked satisfied, like Light had done something right. He might even be smiling behind his mask.

For the life of him, Light could not figure out what pleased him just then.

"I asked if you knew him," Dr. Martin said evenly.

Light nodded. "You could have called him my boss, but he was also my friend."

Dr. Martin's satisfied expression shifted into a scowl and he glanced at his papers where Light's employer was probably listed.

"You don't mean Quillsh Wammy, do you?" At Light's confirmation, he continued, "I'm sorry you had to hear it like that. I saw the article last week, but I didn't make the connection with you."

"It was the same day…" Light trailed off and just lifted his arms a little. He had not meant to say all this, but his words were like a spigot he could not shut off. "I don't know if I had anything to do with it."

That was another thing he had not considered until today. He had strayed far from whatever Dr. Martin had originally asked him, but this conversation was revealing far too much. The medication made his emotions weirdly dull until Dr. Martin poked at him, and then they swirled out of control.

"I want to take a walk," Light said, glancing over into the corner of the room. "I need to get out of this bed. I'm trapped here."

"That's going to be difficult with your injuries, but I can get a nurse to walk you down the hall if they keep it clear."

Light must have made an affirmative noise, for the man continued, "Thank you for talking to me, Lucian. If you can't reach me, you can ask for the on-call psychologist too."

"I know," Light said.

He could not look back at the man until he left, but he did not care what impression he gave Dr. Martin right now.

True to his word, two nurses swathed in protective equipment came in and painstakingly helped him climb out of the bed so he could go walking. He needed a robe over his shoulders just so his teeth did not chatter from the cold. It was hard to be aware of his fever when he was kept under blankets all the time, but he was freezing without them. His arms prickled when he tried to let them hang at his sides without touching them. They felt unnaturally heavy, and he tried to ignore the sense of wrongness coming from his left arm. Once he demonstrated he could still walk on his own, for they could not risk contaminating his wounds by aiding him, they let him leave.

In thin slippers, he shuffled with pathetic baby steps down the empty hall toward a stairwell while one nurse pushed his IV pole. He did not care if anyone else saw him in this deplorable state. He needed to move and get out of that prison even if only for a few minutes.

He stared longingly out the window in the stairwell door because it was the nearest thing to a window to the outside, to the sight of anything outside this dreary limbo.

They only let him walk around for a few minutes before they ushered him back into his little room. By then Light's legs ached, but he had something else to look forward to.

Visiting hours started in only an hour. Perhaps L might still return.

Light could not believe he was actually longing to see the other man. He closed his eyes and started his audiobook back up in the hopes that time would pass more quickly.

* * *

Near answered his mobile when it rang almost as soon as he turned it on. When he saw the caller, he answered in Greek, near-certain that Sayu had no knowledge of the language.

"Are you in Zurich?" L asked without preamble, switching to the same language.

"Yes. I am sorry I did not think to call before I returned," Near confirmed, apologizing almost out of habit. Of course L would know where he was.

Beside him, Sayu yawned, practically weaving on her feet. He felt no better, but he tried not to show it. His nose and lungs ached from all the dry air on the plane, and he had a headache after so many snatches of sleep between drink services and turbulence and everything else that had woken him up. The layover in Frankfurt had been so long and boring during the early hours of the morning when little was open that he was hard-pressed to be polite.

"What are your plans after this?" L asked.

"I have no plans," Near replied. " _This_ was not my intent. Without knowing the situation there, I can plan nothing except to take Lucian's sister to see him. I told her that I would."

He was careful not to say her name and tip her off to who they were discussing. She looked content to see what amenities were available around their arrival gate, so he refocused on his conversation.

"Lucian has asked for help being released, so he may not be in the hospital when you get here," L said. "Why is only she there?"

"Because her parents will likely follow next week. I could not speak to all of them before I left. Her mother was insistent."

"Where is she going to stay?" L asked.

Near's mouth went dry. He reached to twirl a piece of his hair rather than searching for the robot toy that was still safe in its pocket. He only meant to glance at Sayu out of an absurd need to see that she was still there, but she was watching him.

She smiled, oblivious, and extended a finger to point across the concourse.

"I'm going to get something to drink. Want to come?" she whispered, obviously trying not to interrupt his phone call.

Near nodded and picked up his bag. The concourse was bright from all the windows, and he had no idea what she was pointing at until he could dig out his sunglasses.

"I do not know. I… had not given that any thought," he managed once they started walking and his jaw unlocked. "I do not think she would like a hotel because she says her English is poor."

"I'll get Roger to find her an empty room and tell the children," L said on a strange note.

Near was unsure what was off about L. He was even more surprised that L was speaking to him after the volatile nature of their last conversation.

"Are you sure?" Near asked.

"It will be a school soon enough," L said dully. "If Lucian is supposedly here to teach, we can pretend that it is true."

Near waited before he said the next part. It was for L's peace of mind.

"I told them as little as I could," he said. "It was not my intent to compromise anyone out of spite."

Now it was L's turn to be quiet for several moments before he said, "I may need your help with Lucian when you get back."

"Of course. Just let me know what you need," Near said.

He closed the phone against his chest but slowed to a halt with it under his chin. He could not see anymore to know where he was going.


	53. Forfeit

Matt startled awake when the exterior door to his workspace opened, letting a whole lot of unwelcome daylight into his office as well. He scrubbed his face with his sleeve, hoping he had not been drooling onto his shoulder since the last time L had bothered him into waking.

He had been up most of the night doing random tasks for L and had not felt like trying to find his bed. L would just call and wake him up if he was not in his office. It was not the first time he had fallen asleep in his computer chair, after all.

Voices followed that invasion of sunlight.

"He said a thumb drive would be easy enough to hide for a few minutes," came L's voice followed by the unmistakable click of high heels on tile.

"What if it's only in hard copy?" a woman replied.

Matt rocketed out of his chair, stubbed a boot against his desk, and caught himself terribly noisily against the doorframe. He jerked his goggles down over his eyes and shoved his trapped hair out of the way.

Around the corner, L raised a barely-visible eyebrow at his antics. Matt got his legs untangled and made it out of his office, so he could see his visitors.

Wedy was taller than L right now in her gray heels with the wickedly sharp points. How she had made it across the yard without sinking into the grass or catching them on the flagstones was a mystery. Even though it had to be morning, she wore a darker gray suit jacket and skirt with a filmy scarf tucked in around her collar. That was way too dressed up for this early. She pulled off sunglasses that glittered with diamonds, if Matt was any judge of Wedy's tastes, and she smiled.

"Matt?" Wedy asked, her voice suffused with mirth. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, just exhausted cuz _he_ kept me up all night," Matt said, inclining his head toward L. He crossed his arms and slouched against the wall.

Wedy made an unladylike snigger and Matt realized his error.

"You know what I mean," he said, his face going hot with embarrassment. Fortunately it was still dim in the entryway as the outer door swung shut.

"Oh, I do," Wedy said with a little laugh. "I fly all night and only have time to drop my things off, but he says we've got to start work now!"

L glanced at the watch on his wrist and scrubbed at his already-messy hair.

"I need to get started in the next two hours. We don't have a lot of time to coordinate," he grumbled.

"I left as soon as I could. You just want me to lift some records, right?" Wedy asked, looking a bit disdainful at her expertise going to waste.

"You need scrubs or something that won't stand out so much first," L dodged her question in a deadpan, glancing up and down her outfit as if Wedy was a department store mannequin.

Wedy rolled her eyes.

"Breakfast, then scrubs. I only had a few hours to sleep on the plane," she said, spinning on one heel and opening the door.

"I'll come with you. I don't remember when I last ate," Matt said.

He pushed off the wall, so he could follow her but immediately regretted it when the sunlight outside struck like a blow. Wedy did not help. From her sunglasses to her rings to the earrings, she glittered in the rare sunlight. Matt could hardly look at her when his eyes were still used to the dark in his office. He could definitely follow the scent of her perfume though.

"I can fix that. I brought Oreos with my driver, and I have more snacks at the hotel," Wedy said over her shoulder as she pushed her sunglasses back through her loose blond hair.

"Yes! Peanut butter? Candy Cane? Red Velvet?" Matt asked, hurrying to catch up with her.

"Pumpkin spice! I saved them from fall. They never expire… Matt?" She glanced back, but Matt had staggered to a halt.

"Pumpkins are _vegetables_ , Wedy."

"I'm joking," she said. "I have a couple—"

"You can come inside," L said from some distance back where he was lagging behind them.

Wedy stopped and gave L a disbelieving look, all amusement snuffed out.

"You don't have to do that. I hear they serve an excellent breakfast at my hotel," she said. "My treat if you want to join us."

Even Matt was surprised. L had not let any of his outside agents come to Wammy House in the past. If he needed to see them face to face, he met them at a hotel in town or several hours away to hide their location. Matt had been tasked a few times with making sure none of those outside agents made an attempt to follow or track L after the meetings. It was strange enough to see Wedy here in person, and now L was inviting her inside?

"It's all right," L said although he made no effort to pretend that it was. "Get tea or food from inside to save time, then we can do further planning from Matt's workspace if that's convenient," he finished with a glance at Matt.

Was L asking permission to use his space with other people in it? Last night must not have been a fluke. L was just weirdly solicitous right now.

"If Wedy's okay with it, sure," Matt said. "All we need is in there."

Wedy sighed, but it was a lot more subdued than her behavior earlier.

"I trust you have the layout of this facility already? I also need the names of department heads, shift schedules, and…" Wedy started, ticking things off with her red painted nails.

"I've already got most of that," Matt interrupted. "That's what we worked on all night."

"Good. This shouldn't be difficult," she said.

"This is only the first part," L said now that he had caught up with them. "I can't finalize the second until I see those records."

"I'd better have time for a nap while you decide," Wedy said on a yawn. "Let me tell my driver to go, so he doesn't sit outside gathering attention."

"Don't forget the cookies," Matt whispered, and Wedy gave him a wink as she sauntered off on those impossible heels.

Once she exited the main gate, Matt glanced sidelong at L, who gave every impression of being bored with the proceedings despite the tension in his shoulders.

"So what else is she stealing?" Matt asked.

"Nothing yet. It isn't all up to me," L replied, but the answer was useless to Matt.

He turned and went inside the house before Matt could ask any more.

* * *

Lunchtime came with no visitors, but Light was too distracted to care for several minutes after the hospital staff left. They took away most of the equipment that had surrounded his bed.

They also left his right arm exposed after it was hidden from him for so long. The blotches were fading now that he could move a few fingers without making himself nauseated. Only a comparatively thin band of gauze covered the sutures that remained, so aside from the tape around the catheter leading to his antibiotics, he could see everything.

He was healed… in a _manner_ of speaking.

Still-red scarring began inches below his elbow where he had trapped it between the paring knife and his steering wheel. The scar disappeared soon under the gauze; the knife had gone deep here, and the bump of sutures marked where he had damaged one yesterday during L's visit. On the other side of the gauze, the red path resurfaced between the bones in his forearm and traced an arc toward his thumb, ending in a messy slash where the blade had buried itself in the mound under his thumb. With the blade between his knees, he had not had much control over where it went.

He folded his arm up slowly, wary of pinching the catheter for too long, and brushed the side of his throat. His fingers lacked much of their former sensitivity, but they found no more bandages or stitches, broken or otherwise. A smooth line of skin betrayed the presence of another scar.

Now that the bandages no longer hid them, his scars would tell everyone why he was here. They would be there forever to bear witness to what he had done.

Only a few days ago, finding a gun had been his first priority once he had his hands back. Then he could finish what he had started, and the scars would not matter.

There were guns at Wammy House.

Light lowered his arm and touched his MP3 player to resume the book he had been listening to before his sutures were taken out. _Ivanhoe_ was a lot more comprehensible when he was not fighting exhaustion and his own rusty English. He had no idea how Matt had remembered him trying to read this so many weeks ago.

The cup containing his usual liquefied lunch sat on the tray beside his bed, but he had asked the nurse to leave it. He did not want any help feeding himself right now. He might even ask for real food again if he could hold a utensil.

Light tilted his head to get the hair out of his eyes while he reached for his meal. Now that he had gotten someone to clean his hair properly after his little walk, it was long enough to tickle where it brushed his cheeks. He let his fingertips rest against the cup and pulled it closer with friction alone because there was no condensation to make it slippery. When he tried to close his hand around it and lift it, his thumb had no strength. His fingers could not stay curled enough to grip it either. He reached past it instead and used his wrist to edge it closer.

Success! Now it was on the edge of the tray table, but it was not close enough for him to lean over and drink it without disturbing his left arm. He tried dragging the tray table closer, but its wheels stuck just enough to thwart him.

He could barely push the call button for the nurse, but he was cross enough now to punish himself for his hubris.

After his appointment with Dr. Martin, a nurse checked on him periodically rather than staying by his door. With his suicide watch ended, no one saw his feeble attempts to feed himself and tried to help him.

Success on two fronts. Now if only he could actually eat his meal.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a nurse appeared in his doorway when he looked up. He sat up straight, suddenly enervated, and forgot all about his food. He paused his book so he could hear her.

"Mr. Nakimura?" she started. "You have a visitor, but he's not allowed to come—"

"Please send him back," Light interrupted.

"Err, it's Ryu from yesterday. You can have him barred from visits—" she tried again. L must have given the half-name that Light had called him yesterday.

"Yesterday was a misunderstanding," Light said. "I want to talk to him."

After she left, Light glanced around quickly. Dr. Martin was not the only person to whom he had to prove himself. Would anything he did make a better impression on L?

In the end, he only had time to comb his hair out of his eyes before the nurse led a familiar figure with scarecrow hair to the door.

It _was_ L.

The relief that rushed through him at the sight of L made Light clamp his lips shut in case some inkling of his medicated thoughts made their way out of his mouth. L must have asked the nurse something, for she exchanged a few sentences with him before heading back down the hall. For the first time, Light would have privacy for a visit.

L was back in his loose jeans and white shirt under his jacket, his hair its usual untidy mess. Light was glad to see it for the first time. L looked a lot better than he had the last time Light had laid eyes on him even if he had been dressed well.

L lingered in the doorway, looking almost reluctant to enter. He scuffed one shoe against the back of his leg, his hands deep in his pockets.

An unfamiliar _tock tock_ of high heels made Light glance out the window for a moment. Behind L, a blond nurse carrying a stack of charts walked purposefully down the hall. So many other nurses wore soft shoes, and Light must have seen everyone who worked here at some point. Odd that he did not recognize her.

L paid her no mind.

"They didn't ask me to wear a mask," L said by way of greeting. "This must mean good news."

Light lifted his hand so he could wrap the earbud cords around his fingers and tug them from both ears.

"If not having MRSA is good news, then it is. They found an antibiotic that it responded to in the lab," Light said.

He did not mention that this antibiotic stung as if bee venom was being pumped throughout his body. He hoped it would fade with time, but it was going to be a sleepless night if it did not. A sleepless night back in his sterile little room at Wammy House would still be better than good rest in a hospital. He never thought he would long to be back in there.

Now that he finally had L here, he did not know where to start. Did L have a plan already? Of course he did; this was _L_. Did _Light_ have a plan beyond convincing Dr. Martin not to recommend him for further inpatient treatment?

"Come in," Light said, for L was still hovering inside the door, which gave them no privacy to discuss anything.

L's eyes darted to Light's exposed arm when he did step inside, so Light showed it to him. L walked closer and stopped not far from the bed.

"They took out the stitches and most of the sutures now that it's less risky," Light said.

He felt more than a little absurd showing off the ruin he had made of his own limb, but L needed to see that the injuries would not keep him from leaving. His left arm was hopeless. There was no helping that unless they finally amput—

Light's attention shifted violently away from that thought.

Why was L not saying anything? This was so awkward. They were not friends. Small talk did not come naturally because it was unnecessary. They only spoke to each other about work. Light did not know how to talk discreetly about a plan he did not know. L would help, wouldn't he? He had nodded to show he acknowledged Light's request yesterday.

L still fixated on the scar running up Light's arm. Light withdrew it and let it rest on the bed, so L could not see the scar anymore. Now he felt exposed and vulnerable, as if he had taken his clothes off in L's presence.

"Light-kun," L started, his eyes still downcast when he switched to Japanese for privacy. "Why do you want my help?"

Light was surprised that L was not using his false name. He had no time to respond before L continued.

"Getting out of here. Why do you want my help getting out of here?" L asked.

L's eyes, when he lifted them to Light's, were unreadable. The whites of his eyes were still pink, the broken blood vessels making them almost painful to look at, but in no other way did L look weak today.

Then why was he asking questions? Light could not believe this. He had waited over an entire day just for L to ask for _reasons_? Was the man daft?

"Do you have any idea what this is like?" Light asked. He dropped his voice to a whisper so no one outside could hear even if he was speaking Japanese. "I'm trapped and can't leave, and thanks to Near, my family will probably come and demand to know what I've done. I have no privacy here and nothing to do except be watched."

He could hardly get his thoughts in order, so quickly did the reasons surface, but L did not look pleased when he spoke.

"You look feverish, and your arm is still infected even if it's not MRSA," L said, but he looked almost sad for a moment.

"I can't do what you're asking of me," L finished quietly, as if talking to a child.

Light clenched his teeth in helpless frustration. L was his only hope for actually getting out of here without risking involuntary psychiatric treatment.

"Why not?" Light blurted out.

Even as he spoke, he sensed that he was playing into L's hand. This felt staged all of a sudden.

"You didn't answer my question, and you're asking me to put your life at risk. I don't think getting you out of here is what's best for you," L said.

L's eyes were back to being unfeeling, like chips of black glass. His words sounded concerned, but his eyes evinced no warmth, no sympathy.

"I'll be the judge of that," Light snapped.

"You proved that you _cannot_ discern what's best for you," L countered with a glance at Light's still-bound left arm.

That _bastard._

L made a near-imperceptible movement as he shifted on his feet, as if he meant to dodge something. Did L expect Light to hit him for that?

Well, Light _had_ broken his nose the last time L had implied that he was a failure, and his shoulders _had_ tensed, as if they were making decisions on their own. Light opened his mouth and just as quickly closed it before he could say something he would regret. He forced himself to breathe and relax. If this was a test, he would not win by losing control of himself.

L was worse than Dr. Martin at aiming for his weak points, but Light already knew that L would be merciless, hadn't he? L would hold nothing back. The man had spent weeks training him for this sort of thing, after all.

"What are you going to do after this?" L asked without giving him a moment's reprieve.

"That's not your business."

"It is if you're asking me to break the law and be an accomplice to your suicide," L said without hesitation.

Despite L's words, he still let nothing show. It was like arguing with a machine, and it was about as affirming or satisfying.

"I already said you got the wrong idea," Light bit out.

"So tell me, Light-kun, what you're going to do after this," L repeated. "Don't dodge the question this time."

Light pulled back from unconsciously leaning toward L and fell back against his pillow. The ceiling tiles were much safer; he could not look at L anymore. Light could not meet that disinterested gaze and spar with L about this topic again. Maybe this was a game; maybe it was not. It would not have been the first time L argued with him about suicide just to eviscerate Light and then look pleased about it while he ate dessert.

Light was a fool to put his trust in L, someone already broken beyond repair. L had no qualifications to recommend him for anything but investigative work. Light had never been reaching out for L's rescue in those nightmares, not really, but rather than learning his lesson, he had grabbed for L in real life. Light had just made an even bigger wreck of his life this time before he asked for help.

L was not his fucking savior. Why had Light let L get so involved in his life?

"I can't think that far ahead," Light said, hardly able to remember what L was bothering him about.

"Then why are you so afraid of seeing your family?"

"You're not a psychiatrist, remember? Don't try to psychoanalyze me," Light spit out.

L scowled when Light glanced over at him, brows drawn down and his mouth pursed. He remembered Light's eavesdropping on one of his and Wammy's last conversations.

"So let a professional do that," L said, his ire looking real and not faked. "I can't cut your therapy short by taking you out of here, not if it's helping."

"What are you going on about?" Light asked, unable to figure out how to win this conversation.

"You can't run away from me this time to win an argument, so you are _fighting_. That is already an improvement, Light-kun," L said.

Light craned his head upright, but that only let L pin him with that black gaze. Somehow L stood well within his personal space, his hand even resting on the tray table. How had L gotten so close without him noticing? This L was a different person from the meek one that Light had begged for help.

But L was not done.

"You have walked out on me numerous times rather than challenge me for what you wanted. Don't think that I've forgotten," the person wearing L's face said, his eyes bright with fury. "You left the building when you disliked my suggestion to get you out of the agency, you took the _train_ away when I lied about your job description..."

L's thumb and index finger encircled Light's wrist in one swift motion and shoved those livid scars into Light's sight.

"And you let me explain nothing **_the day you did this_**."

L was actually breathing hard, his eyes intense but unreadable.

"Keep _fighting_ me, Light-kun. Don't give up so easily."

* * *

Light gasped with either surprise or pain. L let Light's scarred wrist fall back to the bed.

It had been a serious gamble, grabbing him like that when he was still healing, but L needed to shake him out of this defeatist torpor to show Light that he was healing even if he hated this environment.

This whole conversation was a minefield.

Light's pain shifted to stifled rage, nothing like that cold disinterest that he had shown L so many times during their past arguments before he simply walked away. Light right now was a dormant volcano, not an ice sculpture. He trembled with the effort to contain his fury.

He would fight now. L had backed him into a corner by denying him the only thing Light wanted anymore: freedom. It was what Light wanted to do with freedom that frightened L.

L dragged the nearby plastic chair to him and crouched in it while Light struggled to find words. L needed his wits.

"You lied about my job?" Light hissed through his teeth.

"You knew I did; you called me a liar that day," L said. This was the most important part of what L had said? He was almost disappointed.

Light sat back upright, giving L back his full attention. Light's cheeks were still reddish with fever, but he looked more like himself again, not like that listless person that had so frustrated L.

No, he was starting to look like someone else entirely, someone L had never met. L had not seen this mask before if it was a mask at all.

"That job was the foundation of our _entire_ relationship," Light snarled, barely keeping his voice low enough not to carry. His lips pulled back from his teeth when he spoke. "How did you think we could work together when you lied about something so fundamental?"

L did not think Light would go for a killing blow so quickly, but he should have known better. Interacting with Light was always so bad for his pride.

"I never did," L managed. He crossed his arms over his knees, so he could hunch behind them. "I told you that I had made a mistake from the start."

Did Light even notice that L was not evading his questions this time?

"What 'mistake?'" Light said as if it was a dirty word. "Hiring me? Interviewing me? Chasing me down in Aoyama so you could delight in my humiliation?"

"Thinking that I could replace Mr. Wammy," L said, not looking away from Light even if it was unnerving to look right at him.

L did not back away or make any effort to block an attack. As much as it shamed L to revisit one of his failed projects, one more life ruined because of his actions, this was the only opportunity that L had ever gotten to rectify a mistake.

He would never have tried to fix it either if Light had not asked him for help. Light himself had dragged L out of his stupor after Mr. Wammy's death.

The problem was that L could not fix the situation.

Light stopped baring his teeth at Mr. Wammy's name. The rage drained out of him until his shoulders rounded with weariness. He looked down into his lap. No, he was looking down at his arms.

"What was the point of any of this," Light said, his despair not even making the words a question. "Was I a game to you? Why did you even come back?" His words trailed off until they were little more than a whisper.

"Because I don't know how to begin to fix this," L said. He ducked until his mouth was hidden behind his arms.

Light glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Fix what," he deadpanned in that barely audible voice.

"Us. Our working relationship. I made a mistake when I hired you, but I won't make it again," L said.

Light's brow crinkled as he lifted his head. He did not speak, his mouth slanted downward in defeat. He was curious at L's words but not hopeful.

"I shouldn't have tried to do it on my own," L paused to try to make sure he used the right words with Light this time.

Light sat up the rest of the way, his lips parted and his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

"Please help us work together, Light, because I cannot."


	54. Vulnerability

Light shook his head slowly in disbelief, his eyes unable to leave L's. L's eyes were the only visible part of his face with him hunching like that.

L had called him a mistake again, or rather, L had said that _he_ had made a mistake hiring Light, but then why would L say please yet admit to being unable to work with him in the same sentence?

"I can't follow you at all," Light said. This was just like their conversation in Aoyama; L's words confused Light as badly as L's intentions had when alcohol and the flu fogged his mind. "Are you asking _me_ to do something?"

L nodded slowly.

"I put plans into motion that can't be reversed without serious harm to both of us," L said.

It was not the answer that Light needed; it was an explanation. L had such monstrous difficulty answering Light's questions rather than explaining his rationale or just evading.

"Both of us?" Light repeated, lifting the very arm that L had grabbed as part of his argument. "I broke your nose; that's not lethal."

"My _livelihood_ is at stake if this… if we fail. That is lethal," L said, curling more tightly over his knees.

L might have been dressed more like himself, and his bloodshot eyes were wide and unreadable, as usual. However, he had grown tenser as they talked, and now he resembled the fragile L from yesterday more than the indifferent employer that had started this conversation.

Was this L telling the truth? L went expressionless when he lied because that was when he was most comfortable. L only faked emotion to tease Light, but this conversation was anything but lighthearted.

"You've wasted time on this training, that's all. Matt, Near, or someone else from the house would be better than," Light paused, "us."

Even for the sake of argument, he could not lie that Near or Matt was better suited than he was to function in society. Neither of them had even left his childhood home.

"They're too similar to me. I didn't choose the wrong person for this job," L said.

"You chose a tool," Light said bitterly. "You created the illusion that I needed you and that you could use me. Don't think I can't see that after all the time I've had to think in here."

"You're right," L said in a small voice.

To think, Light had thought that L's apology was surprising. He had never expected L to own up to lies more than once.

L's fingers gripped his knees with the same ferocity that he had applied to Light's car seats on the drive back from France. L's intense expression did not waver. He was afraid, and he was not trying to hide it from Light this time.

"I made many mistakes with you. It doesn't change the fact that severing ties will do _you_ a great deal of harm as well," L added.

 _You can't stop trying to make me need you, can you? As long as I need you, you get to exploit this power imbalance between us,_ Light thought.

Perhaps Light's lack of agency and L's lack of trust were the insurmountable obstacles between them, not Light's depression or L's past.

L lifted his head and frowned as if he was pulling the thoughts out of Light's mind again and scrutinizing them.

"No, Light-kun. I'm trying to make you see that I need _you_ ," L said stiffly, his mouth barely moving with the words.

Only then did Light realize that he had spoken that thought aloud. He stiffened with embarrassment, but L's next words made him forget all about it.

"If I knew how to work with someone else, I wouldn't ask for your help," L continued.

L needed his help.

L still had a use for Light.

Light did not have to go back to Japan or look for a better way to kill himself. He could that hope things might still improve…

But hope was poison: L offered Light purpose in one hand and humiliation in the other. The few good training sessions that they had shared had not made up for how often L made Light feel inferior. Wanting. _Dependent_ on L.

Light had forfeited control to L once already when he was at the end of his rope, but it had only made things worse.

"I don't know where to start. Did you tell the truth about any part of this job?" Light asked, grasping at whatever would make this conversation more than an exercise in futility. It seemed perverse to quibble about a job at such a delicate time, but they truly had no other reason to interact.

"I need a partner who is skilled at investigation _and_ working with people," L said. "Those were not lies."

"Someone like Mr. Wammy."

"No. He was irreplaceable. I need someone like I trained you to be who will also challenge me." L ducked his head again. "It has not helped either of us for me to profit from this 'power imbalance' of yours.

"I could tell you more if we had privacy, but we are running out of time," L said with a nod at the window.

"So what would even change? Will you answer my questions now? Will you stop assigning homework and leaving me behind while you travel?" Light asked.

"Yes, if you tell me what you want," L said flatly. "But I cannot promise to be gracious about it."

Light was wrong.

L was not asking _Light_ to forfeit anything. Not anymore.

* * *

Light's expressions had vacillated wildly between confusion, anger, and hope, but now they all melted away. Light just stared at him.

L could hear the seconds ticking away even though Wammy's watch was not that loud. He listened for the sound of Wedy's heels that would signal the end of her search, but only quiet conversation, beeps, and the clink of bottles as supplies were wheeled down the halls met his ears.

L was not even sure Light was breathing; it was so quiet. Light did not even blink.

L needed an escape from this conversation. He needed to give Light time to think. He needed time by himself to dig into the records Wedy was looking for. Where was Wedy?

A _tick_ made him look up from Light's arms, which L had not even realized he was studying.

Light turned his head away, and that _tick tick_ came again. When Light lifted his right hand, his fingers and then his whole hand started trembling. L realized the ticking was Light's teeth chattering when his shaking fingers pushed his hair back out of his eyes.

The motion drew L's attention to that exposed scar where Light had tried to put a hole under his jaw. Light might be able to cover up the scars on his arms in the future, but if Light agreed to stay with him, L would always see that one scar and remember.

Light finally drew air, but it sounded strangled. Light made a weak fist and hid it in the blankets over his lap while he bent forward so L could not see his face. His teeth still clicked audibly and even his shoulders vibrated with tension.

L cocked his head. He had no idea how to read Light right now. Whatever medication Light was taking made him act too strangely. Was this the release of so much pent-up tension after their prolonged argument? Was Light relieved, or was this just hopelessness?

He could not sit here in silence and watch Light disintegrate.

"What will you do after this?" L asked softly for the third time just to get Light to consider the future.

Light lifted his head though he did not turn toward L. His teeth stopped chattering after he drew a deep breath although his shoulders still trembled.

"Get a haircut," Light said.

L's eyes widened with surprise.

"And finish this book." Light withdrew his hand from the blankets and tapped his MP3 player with one finger. He swallowed hard and sat back up, still avoiding L's gaze. "Could you hand me that cup, please?"

L picked up the Styrofoam cup on the tray table next to his chair and held it out. It was heavy and probably still full. Light reached out for it blindly.

Light's hand, when he extended it, exposed fingers striped with thin cuts unconnected to that deep red scar in his thumb. They had not been there before _that day_. Every part of him was so damaged.

What L was offering was not penance for his failings. Working together benefited them both, but perhaps it was also the right thing to do.

Light tried to take the cup from him, oblivious to L's distress. Light's ring and pinky finger still curled, immobile, and the others had no strength to lift the cup away from L's hand.

L refused to consider how difficult it might be to work with Light if he had lost the use of his hands. He had not wanted Light for his manual dexterity, and he would find a way to work around it…

If Light did not fling this concern back in L's face as well.

"Let me know if this hurts you," L said instead after he made sure no one was watching him through the door or window.

That made Light pay attention, but L refused to meet his gaze for something as intimate as he was about to do. This was not like when he had done shiatsu to Light; that had been dispassionate brute force by comparison.

L moved the cup away and threaded his fingers through Light's just so he did not have to grab any part of Light's damaged hand. Light sucked in air, startled, but he did not stop L or pull away. L twisted Light's hand palm up, so he could set the drink in Light's palm just above his wrist. Unless Light's tendons were all severed, his hand could only bend backwards so far. L leaned forward so he could guide Light's arm into his chest, and Light let him. Now Light could reach the straw without bending his elbow so much that he pinched the catheter. L took both hands away, and the cup stayed upright where it rested.

Light had _not_ asked him to hold it, after all.

"Thank you," Light said quietly once L met his eyes again.

L realized that he had passed a test: Light had made his first request when he had known he could not lift anything. He had wanted L to find a solution.

L let Light take a few sips of his drink or meal in peace. He wanted to force Light to give him a definite answer right now, but he nearly bit his ragged thumbnail bloody saying nothing.

Demanding commitment during their first interview had only made Light leave him. L would be a fool to disregard Light's pride again.

"My family," Light started, the straw still against his teeth, "are they…?"

"Your sister's plane lands at Heathrow in four hours," L said as he pushed himself back into a more comfortable position.

"Not my father?" Light asked.

"Not yet. She is the only one with tickets."

Light bent to his drink again, his eyes falling closed.

_Tock tock._

What a welcome sound. Finally Wedy was done, and so was L. Speaking with Light was harder than interrogation; L had never worried about the damage he could do to the criminals he investigated.

Now L just needed to draw the nurse away from the nursing station to fetch him for violating Light's ten-minute window. Then Wedy could retrieve the remaining thumb drives she had left around the ward.

L listened to Wedy make small talk with the nurse because it was easier than trying not to pressure Light. The ward was quiet enough that he could make out words. Light asked him to set the cup back down not long before the nurse excused herself from Wedy.

L did not know what to say before he left if Light would not give him a straight answer, and he seemed disinclined to do so. L had at least one recourse still; it was just a card he was reluctant to play when using it would basically admit to his misgivings about Light.

"Think about what I said," L said simply, needing to give some sort of closure to this conversation.

He had admitted to tremendous failings and said some very private things, but Light still balked at keeping any ties to L.

"Will you get me out of here?" Light whispered, his eyes flicking from L to the doorway.

The nurse said Light's false name, but L ignored her to keep her away from the front desk longer.

"I will if it's safe," L said just as softly.

He wished Light had not forced him to give that condition, but he did not want to lead Light on either. He could not free Light just to give Light freedom, not when receiving treatment was better for him.

Light's countenance cracked. He knew what L was asking.

"Think about it," L repeated.

"I don't need to," Light said through his teeth, his earlier distress vanishing. "I have no recourse."

No, this was not right. L had not wanted it to be like this.

"Mr. Ryu, your time is up," the nurse said.

"Light-kun…"

"I will call security—" came the nurse's exasperated voice.

" _I'll_ get us to work together," Light hissed under his breath. " _You_ get me out of here."

"When can Lucian leave?" L asked, changing languages and forcing his gaze from Light to the nurse.

He did not expect a useful answer when he just needed to waste her time. Sure enough, she balked at giving information to anyone but next of kin while L climbed out of the chair as slowly as he could. He dragged the chair back to the window that led to the hall, the back of his neck prickling with the awareness of Light's stare the entire time. Wedy was already gone when L peeked through the glass, so at least one thing was going right.

Light's eyes were fixed on him when L turned around.

"I'll see you soon, Lucian," L said by way of farewell.

Light inclined his head, his eyes sharp. "Soon," he repeated.

L apologized to the nurse and left the room.

Light might have agreed to resume their training, whatever shape it might take now, but L did not trust Light's sudden acquiescence. Light was too desperate.

L had gotten what he wanted, and Light, true to form, had poisoned his accomplishment.

* * *

Wedy was sitting on a bench outside the hospital, a long jacket pulled over her scrubs. Her legs were crossed and she tapped one pointy heel to a tune only she could hear. At least the outrageous shoes had come in handy for alerting L to her movements even if they did not help her blend in.

"Shall I call my driver?" she asked, and L nodded.

Using her connections was easier than driving her around himself, and he did not know or care if she had a license that would let her drive here. She spent most of her time on motorcycles; L did not trust her to drive him.

"What did you find?" he asked once she hung up her phone.

"Plenty of notes. Dr. Martin had handwritten ones on his desk from this morning. Lots of interesting information there," she said, raising her eyebrows behind her sunglasses. L did not react to the unasked question. "I scanned them. Anything else will be on the thumb drives or the audio files I pulled off his voice recorder.

"So who is your friend?" she asked.

"A business associate," L answered with a disinterested stare.

"You called me here from Colorado to snoop on a 'business associate?' In a hospital?" she asked in disbelief.

"He's new. I needed to verify some things about him," L answered vaguely.

Wedy made a disagreeable noise. "Do you need anything else from me today?"

"Not until I review those records," L started then just as quickly changed his mind. "Yes, I do. Could you and Matt redesign the access panel and locks on the armory behind the main building? I want it impossible to get into for less than two people simultaneously. One needs to be me, the other can be Matt or Mr. Ruvie."

"Sure," Wedy dragged the word out, clearly curious about such a specific task. "Why not Mr. Wammy?"

L winced like he had been stabbed with a needle; he had forgotten that not everyone would know.

His defenses were a shambles from that talk with Light. He had needed to be vulnerable to accomplish anything, but it was hard to lower his defenses in increments when he had never been honest with anyone but Mr. Wammy. His barriers were all down.

He must have made either a sound or a terrible expression, for Wedy's eyes were wide behind her glasses when he managed to look at her.

"Oh no," she said breathlessly. "I thought it was strange that I hadn't seen him yet. Is he… ill?"

L tried to say something; his throat had closed off. He could only shake his head, but he could not stop after a few seconds. He bit down hard on his already-abused thumb just to shock himself out of the senseless movement.

Wedy came to her feet.

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly. "Is there anything I can do? Have there already been… arrangements?"

"His funeral," L started, but he could not continue. He could only swallow and look away before he could talk again. He had not expected sympathy or sincerity from another "business associate."

"His funeral was last week. It was sudden," L said. He would not admit to the damning role he had played, not to anyone.

Ah, but there was something else he should say here. It was something Light had forced him to do, and he would never get better if he did not practice.

"I'm sorry I didn't contact you. There was a lot on my mind," L said, lowering his head when he turned back to Wedy.

She did not look upset at him. Instead, she pulled off her sunglasses and set them atop her purse. In daylight, her eyes were actually blue, not gray, he noticed as his brain grasped at random details when he could make no sense of this weirdly deliberate behavior. He could not figure out what ritual she was planning to enact.

"Hold still. This isn't going to hurt," Wedy said.

Then she stepped close and hugged him.

The motion was so smooth and so naturally done that he did not think to brace himself or drop into a kick or shove her away. He had no defenses right now against anything, especially comfort, and Matt of all people had already broken this barrier.

Wedy was tall enough in heels that when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, his head found her shoulder. She smelled like honeysuckle and citrus. It was a reassuring scent rather than something cloying and artificial.

It made him think of Mr. Wammy and his Earl Grey tea.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she said softly.

"I should have—" he tried to speak, but he did not know what he was trying to say. It just forced its way out of him, pointless words that would cover up how fragile he was right now.

"You don't need to apologize to me," she continued as if he had not spoken.

L did not know how to disentangle himself. If he moved, he might betray how awkward or out of his depth he was, so he hung there, suspended, his arms hanging loose at his sides and his eyes closed against the satiny material of her jacket. Once he stopped noting sensory information, he only had his thoughts to occupy him.

Light had agreed, however hastily, to give L another chance to train him. L should be relieved at not losing his livelihood. Planning their conversation had kept him up all night, and he desperately needed more sugar and caffeine to keep functioning, but should he not be relieved at this turn of events? Had things not gone as he hoped?

L had done a selfish thing to keep his lifestyle and his career. L had cast his lot with a damaged genius that L could not control, and Light's very poor health demanded intensive rehabilitation before they could even work together.

If they could even work together. L had to trust Light to do what L could not, and L had no help from any quarter. Mr. Wammy was not there to pick up the pieces any longer.

This task was beyond him, and L could not watch Light kill himself again.

Somehow his arms had come up, his hands balled into fists so tightly that one ragged nail pierced his skin. They hovered next to his shoulders, vibrating with tension.

"It's okay," Wedy said. "No one's here. It's okay."

She held him for a long time. When she finally let him go, she handed him a tissue, and he was embarrassed that he needed it.

She picked up her glasses, but before she could put them back on, L said quietly, "Thank you, Merrie."

He was not sure what had prompted him to use her real name. She paused and gave him an unreadable look. It was not amusement or happiness even though it was something like a smile.

"You're welcome, L," she said just as quietly.

It was the only other name she knew when normally she called him Ryuzaki. Not even she knew that it was his name and not just his title, but she tried to echo his openness. It felt… appropriate after their exchange.

"I think that's our ride," she said with a tilt of her chin toward the far side of the parking lot.

L wiped his face and squared his shoulders. It took more physical effort right now to put his emotions back where they belonged, but it felt easier than it had since _that day._

Strange.

"I'll look at the armory when we get back," Wedy said, back to business with her glasses on. "I was going to make dinner reservations if you didn't need me all evening."

"I need the armory done by noon tomorrow in case things go wrong," L said. "Anticipate that anyone trying to get into it is at least as skilled as me but working alone. Beyond that, I should not need you until tomorrow afternoon."

"So gracious," Wedy said with a return to normalcy as she stepped up to the car. She let herself into the back and L followed.

She gave directions to the driver while L texted Matt with information similar to what he had mentioned to Wedy. He was not taking any risks right now.

One of the most perverse side effects of antidepressants was increased suicidal ideation, and Light would never be so receptive to L or so hard to read if he was not medicated. Light was taking pills that were altering his brain chemistry; his seeming resignation to Sayu's arrival could not be trusted. He had also tried suicide once before, so it would not be a stretch for him to try again.

L could at least make it more difficult for Light.

Wedy got on her phone while they rode back to Wammy House, but L was content to watch the familiar buildings scroll past the windows as he tried to figure out what needed attending to first. It was only 1:30, but the day was far from over. He should probably sleep at some point too. What a bother.

"Marguerite? Oh, is Thierry driving?" Wedy asked in a higher voice as she switched to French.

L's ears perked up at Aiber's real name, although he did not turn his head to watch.

"Fabulous," Wedy said in response to something, which was not helpful. "I've got some more work this afternoon, but I can still do dinner. Is it just you two or the kids?"

Wedy was meeting Aiber? For dinner? What was going on?

"Emilio's?" A pause. "No, I went there last time, and the eggplant was atrocious."

L listened while Wedy and Aiber's wife disputed which new restaurants were worth visiting that evening. This could work out if he wanted the man's assistance on even shorter notice. Aiber would know to come prepared if L had a potential job for him, and if he was meeting Wedy for dinner, he would likely not return home with a long drive ahead of him.

L could use him as early as tomorrow morning, which was good for L definitely needed to play that card. It was only a shame that doing so would erase what little goodwill he might have gained with Light.


	55. Entanglement

Wedy dropped L off at Wammy House before returning to her hotel for a few hours of sleep. It wouldn't take him the entire time to review the materials she had found, but he didn't like how little time she left to work on the armory before going out that evening.

He trusted her, however. He wouldn't have contacted her if he didn't trust her to fulfill the tasks he needed her for.

L scrubbed at his hair, wondering if he should also have a kip while others were sleeping. Matt's monosyllabic response to L's text meant that he was likely asleep too after the many tasks L had assigned him last night. No one was awake to do anything productive except Aiber, but he was useless while stuck on a ferry.

It was so frustrating that no one else had learned to subsist on naps and infrequent bed rest. Did they not see how inconvenient this dependence on sleep was?

He closed the gate behind him and tried not to kick at the tufts of grass along the footpath to the front door. Even if no one was watching, he shouldn't let his irritation be visible. He had slipped up so much since _that d_ \- since Mr. Wammy had passed, but he needed to collect himself now that he had a goal.

The thumb drives Wedy had given him clicked together in his pocket as he walked. He had to sift through that data to find anything relevant to Light's treatment, plus there were scans to view and audio files to listen to. Hopefully something would give him a better picture of Light's health than Light himself.

L had trained Light to lie even more effectively, after all.

Sugar would banish any fatigue that could slow him down. He told himself that was the only reason as he slipped into Wammy House and headed straight for the kitchen. Only then did he realize his mistake.

As another reminder of what his life without Mr. Wammy looked like, there was no cheesecake or torte or anything like it to fuel his work sessions. Mrs. Watson, the house's head cook and buyer of almost all of the food, had never been tasked with getting him anything. She tended toward fruit and other healthy items on account of the children anyway. Wammy always bought L's treats because he knew what L wanted.

L looked in the freezer, but sure enough, he had eaten the last of his ice cream back when his broken nose didn't even let him taste it. What a waste. He sourly pulled the box of sugar cubes out of the cupboard over the coffee pot and crunched through several while he made a carafe of coffee. He filled an insulated pot with hot water too, so he could make tea later without having to come back downstairs.

If this was growing up, he hated it already. For all his arrogance about his intellectual superiority even as a child, he had grown incredibly dependent on others to do the tasks he thought were beneath him.

What must Light have thought of him? Light appeared to have suffered greatly during the year he spent away from home, but at least he had left in the first place.

Before he could waste any more time on self-recrimination, he turned his thoughts to the tasks he would need to assign Wedy and Matt tomorrow if the records showed what he hoped. However, he didn't expect what had to be a gift bag hanging from his door handle when he reached his suite.

"Wedy brought these for you. Sorry I didn't get them to you before you left" was what Matt's terrible handwriting probably said. L set his tray on the coffee table inside before returning to peek into the bag around the tissue paper that hid the contents.

Ghirardelli chocolates. A colorful array of shiny foil packages filled the bag nearly to the top.

Wedy's memory was excellent.

Remembering her attempt at kindness outside the hospital made him flush and let go of the bag. She'd brought him things on occasion before, but they had worked together off and on for over ten years. He considered not turning her over to the authorities enough of a gift, and he used her hobbies and talents to find evidence rather than letting her waste them through acts of petty rebellion against her aristocratic family.

L and Wedy had a working partnership like his with Aiber or the host of others that he contacted when he needed assistance. L didn't talk to any of them when he didn't need them.

However, Wedy had made arrangements to fly out almost as soon as he ended their call; she wouldn't have gone shopping for him in that short time. She had set these aside for him weeks or months ago like she must have done with Matt's cookies.

Even though he had secretly hoped for this, it didn't make him feel better to know she had chosen gifts for him when he hadn't given her a passing thought. Had he been the only one that considered them "business associates"?

And now he had another terrible entanglement to straighten out without Mr. Wammy's help. Working so closely with Light would only produce a worse muddle. He had asked Light both to work with him and to figure out how to do so. L could provide any training or resources Light wanted, but Light had to define their working relationship when L had failed so spectacularly at it.

He lifted the bag of candies off the door handle and shut himself inside his suite. Right now, he was glad everyone else was asleep.

* * *

Near checked the time on his phone. Finally, boarding began in forty minutes. He was tired enough to wish he was sitting down on the plane again even though the sunlight and fresh air were welcome.

Instead, he rested his arms on a railing, eyes closed while he listened to planes moving about on the tarmac right in front of him. On the café table behind him, the stiff breeze ruffled pages in the puzzle book that he had found in a newsstand. It had kept him and Sayu busy while they ate breakfast. Sayu's spoken English might be awkward, but she could read it quite well.

"Is it hard for you to see out here?" Sayu asked once he pocketed the phone.

He was mostly blind even under the umbrella's shade, only opening his eyes every ten or more seconds to make sure nothing had changed drastically around him. He trusted Sayu to alert him if anything odd was going on.

He shielded his eyes to look at her. She leaned half-over the railing on the observation deck, the wind whipping her hair around her head while she sipped an iced coffee. Even on as little sleep as he had, she still looked alert and composed. Did nothing ruffle her? The roar of airplanes taking off echoed all around them, but Near could make himself heard despite the racket.

"I have contact lenses to make it easier, but this is too much with only my glasses," he said.

He had lied earlier and said the light was too bright after he ended his call with L. It was less embarrassing than the truth.

"We can go inside," Sayu started.

"The fresh air is invigorating," Near said before she could continue. "I would not like to sit in there another thirty-eight minutes before boarding starts."

He heard her swirl the ice in her drink before she spoke again.

"Nasanyu-san, could I ask a question?"

"Of course," he said, reaching into his jacket pocket to find the robot he had stashed there after that call with L.

"What am I walking into?" she asked.

Near risked a glance at her to see what expression she wore, but against the searing light, he could only see that her jaw was clenched. She was looking at him though. He ran his thumb over the robot's smoothly painted frame, deliberately recalling the color of each raised surface.

"You know why he's in the hospital, don't you?" she continued.

Near nodded and faced the railing. He didn't know what level of honesty was appropriate if he wanted to warn her but also didn't want to make things worse for Light. Perhaps telling the truth about that was wise too.

"I have difficulty trying to convey how delicate Yagami-kun's health is while not humiliating him," he said.

It felt like he and Sayu had established a fragile rapport after one of the most stressful experiences of Near's life, and he wanted to maintain ties to one of the siblings. His chances were perversely better with the sister he had just met rather than the brother he had been talking to for months.

"My brother is 'Yagami-kun' now?" Sayu asked. So much for hoping she didn't call attention to it.

"He did not know I came to see you. I doubt he will forgive me for such a breach of trust."

"My brother is kind. I hope he wouldn't cut ties with you for that." Sayu's voice was quieter after that, as if she too had turned to watch the planes. "Or at least he was. He's… very distant."

"He was still…" Near cast about as he trailed off. Was Light kind? Near would hardly understand kindness when he interacted with people as little as possible.

He stuck to facts.

"He was friendly when we met, and he is easy to talk to. He is also very driven about his work. I do not know what changed recently." Or rather, he had no idea what incident had finally sparked the explosion that he had warned L was coming.

"What did he do?" When Near said nothing, Sayu added, "Please don't let me walk in unaware. I'd rather know now so I don't react badly and make it harder for him."

Near took a deep breath and let it out.

He saw L again, the other man bending over a rain-soaked near-corpse with his fingers pressing so hard into Light's elbow that his whole arm shook. His other hand clenched Light's arm above a makeshift tourniquet. The look on his face was nothing like L at all, his teeth bared in a rictus of horror. Under L, Light looked dead already, motionless with his skin white from blood loss and cold.

Near tried to explain the situation to the first responder on the phone, but in a panicked moment, he thought they had fought each other given how much blood they both wore.

That image was never going away. He didn't want Sayu to have to envision it too, but she was right. It wasn't fair to let her find out when she saw him.

"He cut both arms open," Near said.

He didn't open his eyes when he heard that aborted noise, whatever it was. She didn't make it again.

"He nearly died before we found him, and now the wounds are infected. It is very dangerous still.

"I am sorry," he added pointlessly.

He opened his eyes at the silence, but Sayu had her head down, hiding her mouth with her hand.

"Is he… awake? Can I talk to him?" she asked through her fingers.

"He is awake, and he can have visitors. His behavior is unpredictable, however. He may not be like you expect."

"I don't think any of us know what to expect." Sayu lifted her head and sniffed. "I'm going to find the toilet. We can go to the gate whenever you're ready."

She turned away from him and wiped her face as she went back inside the airport.

Near watched the glass door close behind her. Despite the sun, the air grew cold. He padded back to their table and opened the puzzle book. She wouldn't know where to find him if he left, so he had to stay here.

He pulled the robot out of his pocket and set it where he could see it while he solved puzzles.

* * *

L tried to ration the chocolates, but the caramel and raspberry squares were half-gone an hour later. The stacks of Intense Dark Chocolate and very out-of-season Peppermint Bark were still untouched, saved for a late-night work session. He did try one to make sure it hadn't expired and was still good.

It was.

He nibbled his way through the chocolate while listening to the psychologist's notes and deciphering the scans of that man's badly handwritten reports. Combined with the typed older entries, it painted a positive picture of Light's _recent_ behavior but only that.

It also let him know much more than he had about Light's health. Light had been unconscious for nearly three days while the staff struggled to keep him alive. The twice-damaged artery in one arm plus hypothermia from the soaking rain had left him in a coma. He would have bled to death before Matt and Near reached him… but it was L who had dragged him into the rain and endangered his life in other ways.

The chocolate turned to ashes in his mouth. It clogged in his throat when he tried to swallow it, and washing it down with now-flavorless coffee only made his whole chest ache. It took a few minutes before the pain subsided enough so he could keep reading.

When Light did regain consciousness, he was less than grateful. He resisted questioning by firing nothing but questions back or by displaying flat affect in silence. He even refused food for the first few days; they had to keep feeding him intravenously. Dr. Martin's sparse notes recommended Light's detainment in an inpatient facility as soon as his health allowed it.

Light's initial medication was changed after those days of unrelenting hostility, and only then did Light talk and resume eating under his own terms. However, Dr. Martin's prognosis was still negative despite the improvement. Light behaved with chilly but polite reserve, but he avoided discussing the future or examining his actions. Nothing indicated that he would not seize the first opportunity to kill himself again.

L wasn't surprised, but it didn't bode well for what would happen if L took Light out of 24/7 observation and care. Even if Light said he would work with L, he had broken his word before. L scrolled through other patients' reports to find the next one about Light.

Everything changed after L's second visit even though L expected that too. Of course Light would try to get himself released when he wanted to avoid his family finding him there.

Light asked to see his counselor outside his appointment times, and he said everything right, even being open about his inability to overcome his depression. He was cooperative for his next appointment too. It was so perfectly reasonable that its very correctness was suspicious.

Although Dr. Martin also wondered at the complete turnaround, he thought it was due to Light's visitors. Matt was good for Light, and even "Ryu," though he had been a nuisance visitor, forced Light out of his self-centered thoughts. At his most recent appointment, Light displayed honest distress over a friend's sudden death and another friend's grief.

L had to reread that part once he realized that Light had been talking about him.

A "friend." Was that Dr. Martin's wording or Light's?

The next note said that Light expressed regret at the possibility that he had caused Mr. Wammy's death. Dr. Martin approved of that behavior as well, for Light was considering the ramifications of his actions on other people.

L took his hands off the computer and turned toward his coffee. The carafe was empty already, so he lifted the cozy off the teapot and poured tea leaves into it. The lid tinkled dangerously as he slapped it closed. He didn't know what flavor chocolates he ate next.

Had Light used Mr. Wammy as nothing but a prop to fool his counselor? Could Light be so cold-hearted when he and L's adoptive father had gotten along well? Light had contacted Mr. Wammy for help after a year away from him, and then he had made an ally of someone that L had always considered unquestionably loyal to _him_. This was how Light treated the man's memory?

L refused to believe that someone he had— that someone he had been so close to had been used like that. Light held nothing dear right now, neither his family nor his own life, but there was a difference between a lack of concern and that kind of callous disrespect.

L couldn't figure this out. He didn't understand what kind of monster he had unwittingly created with his training.

He closed his laptop, leaned against the sofa arm, and closed his eyes. No other distraction was working, and he needed Aiber before he did anything else.

* * *

"So spill, Matt," Wedy said several hours later on a yawn.

Matt looked up from the circuit board he was soldering. He set down the iron and pulled the penlight out of his mouth.

"What about?" he asked. With the magnifier attached to his goggles, Wedy's face changed shape as he moved his head.

Wedy was sitting with him on the recessed cement entryway to the armory, two toolboxes open beside them. One was his battered chest covered in stickers, the other was her ultra-compact bag in matte black, somehow looking like it came from Chanel or one of those other expensive purse people. She had brought it from her hotel room to augment his supplies, plus she had a portable retina display to see if she could fool the security.

Their workspace was small, little more than a place to stand out of the rain while using the access panel. It was not like this building saw a lot of use. Fortunately the good weather was holding, and neither of them was soaked in addition to sitting on hard cement.

If anything, the late afternoon sunlight was nice after the irregular hours Matt had kept. His thermos of chai kept company with Wedy's Starbucks coffee in the shade created by the recessed entryway, yet they still looked a little sleep-fogged in spite of the caffeine. Matt kept looking over his shoulder to see if L was coming with yet more tasks.

"Who's L's friend, the one in the hospital?" she asked. "L was mum about him, but I'm sure you know something."

"It'll cost you," Matt said, pretending to go back to his soldering just to tease her.

"I already turned over three packs of cookies. How much more do you think I stuffed in a suitcase on short notice?"

She grinned at him before going back to entering his and Roger's biometric data on the laptop. She could program the second access panel as soon as Matt finished building it.

"Probably at least one more thing if you're buying information," Matt said.

"Guilty," she replied. "So talk. This is too easy, and I'm bored."

Matt hummed as he tucked the penlight between his jaw and shoulder so he could talk while he worked. "L hired him a few months ago. Name's Lucian."

"Nakimura?" she paused while Matt nodded. "I scanned some notes about him. I didn't know if the name belonged to him or one of the other patients."

"It's his alias here," Matt answered her unspoken question.

He hoped she didn't ask any more. Wedy was trustworthy given that she was here at all, and this was not his first time working with her, but not every agent needed to know every sordid detail about everyone else.

"So why did I steal info on someone in the hospital?" Wedy asked as she unzipped her bag and pulled out something behind him, oblivious to his chagrin. "Is L trying to find out who put him there?"

Matt frowned and concentrated more on maneuvering his soldering iron. Wedy sighed.

"You can't say, can you?" Wedy continued.

"It's a big mess," Matt said. "Their project went sideways. There's no good way to talk about it."

Behind him, he heard a succession of beeps rather than any more awkward questions, but the electronic locks to the armory didn't disengage.

Wedy hummed and fiddled with a tool, for Matt could hear it spinning in her fingers for a long moment.

"The little I saw in his reports looked positive, Matt," she finished.

"Thank God," Matt said under his breath.

"Are you friends?"

Matt snorted to cover up anything else that might show in his expression.

"Who knows?" he said. "I thought so, but what do any of us know about that sort of thing?"

"We're friends, right?"

"I thought so," he mumbled, focusing hard on the circuit board.

She let out a chuckle. "I've tested the panel, so whenever… oh!"

Matt glanced behind him at her surprised sound only to see L standing there, one hand dug into his pocket and the other holding some papers. The man could move way too quietly when he wanted. He could have been standing there any length of time.

"When will Aiber get here?" L asked without preamble. "He's not answering his mobile."

"You heard us?" Wedy asked with a wry twist to her mouth.

L didn't dignify the question with a response, only looking at her without blinking. Wedy made a little huff of irritation.

"Our dinner reservation is for 8:30, and if his wife takes over driving, they might be here by four. They're staying at my hotel too," Wedy said. "I didn't tell him about this place."

"Did you have plans before then?" L asked. "I could use him," he continued before Wedy could answer his question.

"Just drinks and catching up," Wedy groused. "Really, L?"

L shifted on his feet. Rather than being his usual high-handed self, he looked apologetic. He was being that weird considerate stranger again.

"Yes. I contacted him the same time I called you," L said. "This job shouldn't interfere with your plans if he is quick."

"What is it you want him to do?" Matt interrupted, feeling like an eavesdropper on this conversation. He set the penlight down because he wasn't likely to accomplish anything else with L hovering over him.

L turned to him, and that contrite gaze sharpened into L's usual wide-eyed stare. Matt was suddenly sorry he said anything. L held Matt in place as surely as if he had bound him, but then L blinked and looked away. Matt let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding once the spell broke.

"You'll know tomorrow," L said enigmatically.

Apparently Matt had failed whatever evaluation L had just put him through. L rolled up the papers he was pinching between his fingers so Matt couldn't see what they were.

"Don't let me interrupt you," L added before he turned and left.

"I wonder why it's so important we work on this now," Wedy said quietly as she watched L walk away. Her tone suggested that she had a few ideas.

Matt resolutely picked up the penlight and repositioned it so he could check his work. Next, he clambered to his feet and installed the circuit board back in the new panel he had cobbled together.

"Like I said, there's no good way to talk about it," he repeated as he handed Wedy the device to program with L's information.

"You don't have to. Did you want to do breakfast tomorrow morning? We didn't get a chance today," she asked, deftly changing the subject to something more pleasant.

"That would be great," he said.

He didn't want to drop in on her dinner with Aiber's family, but maybe breakfast would be all right. He didn't know Aiber as well as he did Wedy because Aiber worked when Matt's skills weren't needed. Wedy liked systems and finding out how to infiltrate them, things Matt could understand and support.

Aiber insinuated himself into his targets' company, bluffed expertly to gain their confidence, and then turned what he found out against them. The unfortunate targets divulged information that they should've protected, or they were found somewhere incriminating by police, or they provided items crucial to an investigation or court case. They looked like fools when Aiber finished with them.

Why did L want a con man involved with Light? Matt had done his best to make Light a little less miserable, including not inflicting himself on Light too often. He didn't see how Aiber's involvement heralded anything good.

* * *

Thierry pushed his wavy hair back behind his ears and added pomade to tame it a little. His "doctor" persona needed to look a bit tidier than _he_ did after seven hours of travel; the humidity on the ferry crossing had made a right mess of his hair. However, the wrinkled shirt would probably work just fine for an overworked doctor under the white coat he had packed.

His phone hummed as it vibrated on the minimalist glass desk in the hotel room.

"Hey, Thierry," Merrie said when he answered. "I've finally got a few minutes to myself. Did you get briefed?"

"Yes, our mutual friend sent some files I just finished reading, and they made no sense. What is going on?"

He could still hear water running in the shower, so his wife wouldn't hear anything she shouldn't.

"I was hoping you'd know more," Merrie said on a sigh. "I'm installing security and only stole some files in plain sight. What are you here for?"

"The usual interrogation, but I'm not clear what the end game is," Thierry said. "Our friend's goals were not as defined as I'd like."

He could tell her more in person if his wife was elsewhere. Marguerite still believed, willfully or otherwise, that most of their income came from his legitimate "consulting" career, but he never told her anything about his dealings with L. His jobs for L were far more fun; it was almost a shame he had no one to tell about them except Merrie.

"Not at the hospital?" Merrie asked in disbelief.

"Yes, actually."

"Our friend has an agent there, a new one," Merrie said. She hummed to herself for a moment while he heard the whine of a power tool in the background. "I feel like there's neither a case here nor any crime to investigate."

"He wouldn't call us in for nothing. Sometimes I handle other jobs," he added, recalling his most recent missions to trail that young man whom L wanted to keep tabs on.

"Oh, I think there's something he wants us to handle, but it's not a case."

Thierry stopped smoothing his hair in front of the mirror and took the phone off speaker once he heard the water shut off in the shower. His reflection looked tidy enough; he was just wasting time while he tried to concoct a plan.

"What do you mean?" he asked. The room had a balcony, so if he went out there and shut the door, Marguerite would know not to bother him.

Merrie was silent for a few moments before she replied, "Mr. W. died two weeks ago."

Thierry froze, his progress toward the balcony's glass doors halted. That was unexpected.

"I hadn't heard," he said because he couldn't think what else to say.

Mr. Wammy had coordinated the mundane aspects of L's investigations for years; he made missions run better when L failed to account for his agents' human frailties. L had kept Thierry up for thirty-six hours once with no breaks and no food after the first day, and only Wammy stopped L from asking for more when Thierry reported back. No wonder parts of this mission had felt so… unusual.

As old as Wammy had to have been, Thierry had never considered him _not_ being there, standing behind L.

"Our friend didn't tell me either. I found out by accident," Merrie said in an unusually solemn tone for her. "He's in bad shape, Thierry. He won't show it, but he's not handling the loss well."

Thierry couldn't even imagine L handling anything poorly; the man was unflappable. What had Merrie seen? He had to pick up a piece of equipment from L when he visited the hospital, so he'd get a chance to see if L looked strange. As outlandish as Merrie's suggestion was, she had to be telling the truth if she was telling him about it at all.

"And there's no foul play?" Thierry asked, grabbing his laptop so he could skim the files L had sent again. Maybe he had missed something that would make this assignment make sense.

"It was natural causes," Merrie replied.

Thierry got his slippers on to keep his feet safe from the cool cement outside. He nudged the balcony door open and leaned against it once it slid closed. England was blasted chilly, as always, but the sun kept him warm enough when he was out of the wind. He had hoped to spend a couple days catching up with Merrie, taking his wife shopping, and enjoying a mini-vacation while the kids were with _Grandmère_. Because of how few details L had provided, he had thought it would be a simple job.

Nothing he did for L was ever really simple, was it?

"Anyway, I wanted to see if you had similar suspicions," Merrie said.

"Just more questions," Thierry said.

He got the laptop open one-handed after setting it on the little café table that sat between two chairs. He pulled up the last documents he had been reading while Marguerite drove them to Winchester. They were medical records of all things, and now Merrie's comment about stealing things and the hospital made sense. L wanted him to verify what the records said as well as some other tasks.

This time, his gaze snagged on the odd English and Japanese name. Most of the time the name was abbreviated in the notes, but one document had his whole name. This time it clicked, perhaps because he'd been reminded of his last few jobs earlier.

 _Lucian_ was the posh young man he'd followed in Winchester and elsewhere without a lot of details from L back then either. L usually gave him a full work-up on his marks, but this one had been curiously bare, like L was keeping the information close or using "Aiber" to get initial details on a suspect.

Thierry had failed at his mission several days in because Lucian found and confronted him despite all the precautions he took. L warned him that the boy was observant, but Thierry's success rate had been near-perfect until that day. Perhaps he was careless, or the boy really was that good.

Now Lucian was not a target to be followed but a young man stuck in an isolation wing because he'd nearly killed himself. Again, there was no foul play or even the suspicion of it.

"You said my mark was probably a new agent?" Thierry asked.

"Gamer confirmed it. They were friends too, so this new one was around them for a while."

Why would L call in both Aiber and Wedy on extremely short notice to do curious tasks related to some kid in a hospital when no crimes were involved? Violence _had_ happened: one person had died and another nearly had, but there was no mystery to clear up. It was natural causes and a failed suicide. One person was very close to L, and L was interested in using the other one. Nothing here indicated what L wanted Thierry to handle, as Merrie intimated, especially when Mr. Wammy wasn't there to coordinate—

Oh. _Oh…_

If Thierry was right... He snapped the laptop shut. He had little time to lose if he wanted to finish this before dinner.

"I'll call you back after I finish this task," he said. "I have a hunch what's going on."

* * *

The hours ticked away toward dinner with no more sign of L. Light used the MP3 player to block out the background noise while he tried to ensure Dr. Martin wouldn't stop him from leaving.

Short of starting a fire and hoping the staff forgot to evacuate him, which was wildly unlikely, he would never get out of this place without being observed. There was no guise he could think of that would let him walk around by himself either. He could walk passably well after days of being confined to his bed, but his few personal items were stashed elsewhere while he was isolated. Even if he could find them, he only had his shoes, watch, wallet, phone, and jacket, hardly fitting garb to walk into public with when this robe was his only other option. Everything else had been blood-soaked and sent to evidence before being destroyed.

"Mr. Nakimura?" came a rich, cultured voice that derailed his plans.

Light pushed pause on his audiobook but went still at the sight of the doctor: slightly curling blond hair, a shadow of facial hair along his jawline, and a warm smile that did not match his calculating eyes behind his glasses.

 _Aiber_. Light's erstwhile "stalker" that had followed him several times during L's absences.

Light did not react beyond going still because the large window facing the hallway made him visible to any nurses walking by. He didn't want to tip anyone else off that something was strange, including this man. He relaxed his shoulders with the next breath and tried not to seem surprised, only curious.

Aiber stepped inside with a clipboard and tablet. In a lab coat over his bland business attire with a mask hanging at his throat, he looked the part of several of the staff Light had seen here. He even had a badge.

"Dr. Martin had to cancel his appointments on short notice, so I'll be taking over for the near future," Aiber said.

 _I'll bet he did_ , Light thought.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Doctor… ?" Light asked cautiously. He was unsure if he should give away the fact that he recognized Aiber or not.

If the man worked for L, was this L's help?

"Doctor Moss," he said with a more natural smile. "I know it's a challenge to adapt to a new counselor at such a delicate time, but Dr. Martin's notes are very thorough."

His notes?! That _bastard_. There was nothing sacred to that man; he should have known when L showed off his easy access to Light's school records that he would happily avail himself of any data on Light. Either Matt had hacked in or Aiber, disguised as a doctor or even something else, had lifted the records from somewhere and reported to L.

Light bit his tongue trying not to show any reaction to that off-hand comment. Aiber/Dr. Moss closed the door softly behind him and sat down in the chair not far from the bed. He lifted a neat stack of papers.

"You might be pleased to know that Dr. Martin was considering _not_ having you medically detained once the treatment for your injuries is manageable elsewhere," Aiber said.

"Does 'detained' mean mandatory admission to the psychiatric wing in this case?" Light asked, barely able to keep the frustration out of his voice.

Fortunately, he had read a great many medical journals during the course of his training with L. This was not English vocabulary that would have been covered in his classes at school, but what was the game here? He had demanded that L get him out in exchange for working with him, not get Light transferred elsewhere in the hospital.

"Close. There is no inpatient psychiatric facility in this hospital, so you would have been transferred to," Aiber paused to read off the sheets, "Melbury Lodge here in Winchester if you were still a danger to yourself."

And that would be where his family found him, locked up in a hospital clearly meant for those with mental health failings. Every time Light thought things could not get worse, he was proven wrong. Every opportunity only came with more devastating setbacks. Taking L's initial offer should have taught him that.

"So what does all this mean?" Light asked quietly. He reached up and managed to pull the earbud out of one ear by wrapping the cord around his finger when he could not pinch it.

Aiber crossed one leg over his knee and made himself comfortable in that plastic chair. He practically aped Dr. Martin's approachable behavior. It was also a clear signal that he was now getting down to business.

"It means that you should keep your voice down and be discreet because of the door. Our friend will get you out, but only if he believes that it won't endanger your health," Aiber said in a quieter tone of voice as he made a show of paging through the handwritten notes on his clipboard.

So the man knew Light had recognized him. It was a relief to drop one mask, but L had sent this character to see if it was safe to free Light. That was the game here: proving that he hadn't just lied to L to get out of the hospital.

The monumental irony was that Light had been honest with L for most of their acquaintance. The only lies he told L were the same ones that he unknowingly told himself. L, on the other hand, had been almost entirely dishonest with him, yet this was Light's test yet again.

He had to get out if only to give L a taste of the kind of humiliation that he had remorselessly put Light through.

"The infection was responding to antibiotics in the lab," Light started, unsure how much the man knew.

"We're aware," Aiber said as he poised a pen to feign taking notes.

 _We_. Not "I'm" aware, but "we."

If the heart monitor had still been attached to him, the damn thing would have started beeping.

How could one word infuriate him so? That casual admission showed that not only would L conspire with someone else when he withheld trust from Light, but L, together with Aiber, knew more about Light's condition than he did. _We're aware,_ as if Light's words and input were mostly unnecessary now that L had gleaned Light's records.

Was L playing Light for a fool?

Aiber's eyes glinted with amusement, and Light realized that his face was doing something without his consent. He wiped his expression clear. Curse those wretched drugs; he would never take another after he escaped this hellhole.

"He was more concerned about your mental state and intentions. He can only visit for ten minutes. I can stay for an hour or more," Aiber said.

"You're not a real doctor," Light guessed though it sounded more like an accusation. Aiber would hardly have time to trail him around a doctor's busy schedule, and what doctor would consent to such a menial task at L's request?

"I'm a doctor today," Aiber said, "and I'm wearing a camera so our mutual friend can review this conversation later. So, Lucian, convince my partner and me that what I see here is not just manipulation."

Aiber did it again: "my partner and me." It wasn't an accident. He kept twitting Light about how _he_ was the inside person in L's circle, not Light. He didn't know what L had asked Light to be if he thought he could fool Light with this tactic.

L would have kept his agents close when Light was still in training, but this man was spinning lies just to tweak Light. Mr. Wammy was L's only confidante, not some guy L tasked with following him when L was out of the country.

"I don't need to convince _you_ of anything. You're just an underling," Light deadpanned.

"An underling with more clout than you, perhaps," Aiber replied immediately. He had known Light would say something like that, so Light was behaving exactly like Aiber expected.

"If you're not a doctor, why would I talk to you about my mental health?" Light asked, curious if the man would let himself be questioned.

"It's your intentions I'd like to know, not your thoughts. You've had almost four hours to consider what Ryuzaki asked of you, so what are your plans?"

"If Ryuzaki wants to know them, he can ask me himself," Light said.

"So you've considered what you'll do after this," Aiber replied, his eyebrows raising slightly. It was probably as rehearsed as anything else he did, but Light was still developing a baseline for this man.

"Yes, and I doubt _you_ are privy to what he asked of me," Light fired back.

Aiber smiled, and this time, the expression met his eyes. He lifted his hand and gripped his collar in a curious gesture.

"You'd be surprised what I pieced together," Aiber said in a completely different tone of voice. Without breaking eye contact, he let go of his collar, revealing a button that didn't match the one on the other side of his shirt.

He had just hidden his words from the camera and microphone, if that was actually the camera he had covered up.

Light tried to smile a little, as if he was echoing the man's openness, but he narrowed his eyes at the camera.

"So Ryuzaki trusts you, but he doesn't trust you enough to do this on your own when he wants to check your work."

"That's one way to look at it," Aiber said.

"But he wants you to do this because he can't when he has no interpersonal skills," Light finished.

Now Aiber said nothing, only raised his eyebrows again. Was this what he did when Light said something that pleased or amused him? Perhaps this man was not entirely in agreement with what L was doing. Was that why he had covered up the camera? Why would he come here at all if he didn't agree with this course of action?

" _What does he have over you to ensure you do his work for him?"_ Light asked in French.

Aiber's eyes widened even though nothing else moved. Maybe he'd thought Light would forget or hadn't noticed that he had been carrying a rolled-up copy of _Le Monde_ in his coat pocket when they met in Winchester. His British English was near-perfect, but every now and then, his pronunciation slipped a little.

It was hardly an extreme response, but there had been that same flicker of surprise when Light asked who made him follow Light. Aiber had excellent composure when confronted, but he wasn't wholly without tells.

Just like before, Light swiftly changed directions to keep him off-balance.

"Shut off the camera. If you want to know my plans, I'll tell you the general idea, but make Ryuzaki do his own work if he has so much faith in your word versus mine. He won't believe anything I say anyway."

Aiber leaned back and tilted his head while he studied Light. "That would hardly fulfill the task he asked of me."

"Then you should leave now. Nothing you say could induce me to let myself be recorded for his sake. Either he chooses to trust me or he doesn't, but that's his choice. I can't convince him." And L would see that in a few minutes or an hour, whenever Aiber decided to hand over the recording.

Aiber looked at him for a long moment. Then he sat up and gripped the little button. With a few motions Light couldn't see behind his hand, Aiber produced a little black box from behind his shirt. A wire connected it to the tiny lens of the camera that sat in place of the button. He kept the whole thing on his lap where it couldn't be seen on the other side of the window.

"The other one too," Light said with a blank expression.

"There's only the one," Aiber said, his eyebrows lifting again.

"Do you do what you're doing because I amuse you, or does it make you uncomfortable because I'm using your tells to see whether or not you're telling the truth? You're lying. If you don't produce another recording device, I won't say anything," Light said.

Aiber actually laughed. He sat up, set aside the clipboard, and pulled another device out of his pocket. It looked like a mobile phone, but he opened it up and showed it to Light. There was no signal, which was why he was recording Light in the first place, but it was recording audio.

"Take the battery out of that," Light said. "Hand me the camera."

Aiber did as he asked, and Light put the camera on his blankets, buried it, and then smothered it with his pillow for good measure. He didn't have the manual dexterity right now to try to take it apart although he did know how given some of Mr. Wammy's instruction. It was his and Matt's design, anyway.

"You'll be good for him," Aiber said with a more genuine smile on his face. "So, what did you have planned?"

* * *

L looked up when he saw Aiber exit the hospital. To save time, he had met Aiber here with the camera and stayed while the man met with Light. On account of Wedy's chocolates and her behavior earlier today, he didn't want to upset her by making them all late for dinner. It was a little thing he could do as thanks. A little, vastly uncomfortable thing.

He left Mr. Wammy's car and went to intercept Aiber. The BMW was a lot more discreet than his Rolls Royce, and he didn't want to attract attention right now.

Aiber started when he saw L, but then he headed his way across the parking lot.

"I was going to call you," Aiber said.

"This way I keep from tying up your evening," L said.

It also kept him from waiting any longer to see what Light said. Aiber could read people very well, which L could also do, but Aiber could get them to open up to him, a skill L failed at. He needed Aiber to confirm that Light would not seize the first opportunity to commit suicide once he was free. He needed to know that Light wasn't using every underhanded trick L had taught him to ensure his release. He had to know if there was a kernel of honesty at the heart of all this deception.

"There's not a lot to see. You might find the first minute _very_ interesting," Aiber said, handing over the camera. "See how Lucian reacts to _not_ being the closest person to you."

L scowled at the camera when it was Aiber's words he focused on. Could Light possibly be… jealous?

"You were in there almost an hour. Why isn't there much to see?" L asked rather than seeking confirmation. He would see soon enough.

Rather than answering, Aiber bent so he was at eye level with L when L wasn't standing up straight. L leaned away, not liking the insinuation that Aiber was reading _him_.

"When have you ever expressed an interest in a person who wasn't a criminal? Try _trust_ , L," Aiber said softly, his eyes meeting L's for just a moment. "You can't treat him like you do criminals."

L kept his face blank, his eyes empty despite his reaction to Aiber's words.

Aiber stood back up and ran fingers through his hair, loosening the grip of whatever product he had tamed his hair with.

"He has some interesting plans for the two of you. Are you coming to dinner?" he asked after he checked his watch.

L shook his head. The mention of plans filled him with relief, however. He wouldn't put it past Light to lie about those too, but if he had plans at all, it was a good sign.

"I don't want to take up your free time too," L said, but he was near-certain that Aiber had expected nothing else.

"Call me in the morning when you know what the next steps are. Cheers," he finished with a wave.

L watched him leave, pinching the little camera between his thumb and index finger. He had his laptop in the car and could check the footage right now, but visiting hours were over, and he couldn't get back in to see Light today without a disguise of his own. He might as well pick up some sweets in town so he didn't devour all of Wedy's chocolate in one day. There was still a lot of planning left to do before tomorrow based on what Light had just told Aiber.

* * *

"Don't come right now," Sayu said into Near's phone while she ran a finger down the train timetables.

Light's father's voice was loud enough that Near could hear it even from several feet away. He blushed and edged even further away in an attempt to give her a little privacy.

"Oh good. No, Dad, waiting a couple days is best. I know, I know, but it's not going to do any good to get here sooner." She paused while he spoke more quietly. "He's going to be angry enough as it is. At least if he gets out of the hospital, he might be easier to talk to. I'll call you right after I can speak with him."

Near resolutely closed his ears to the farewells and watched the other passengers milling around them. His bag felt like it was full of rocks, so heavy had it gotten as they slowly passed through customs.

"All right, I think I have it," Sayu said as she handed the phone back. "This notice about winter schedules confused me, but I think I know what tickets we need."

Sayu seemed confident enough about planning their transportation so long as Near was there to check her translations and do the actual talking. Near had considered calling Matt, but then they would have to wait while Matt stopped whatever he was doing and drove there first. No, it was easiest if they just took the train into Winchester. After so much air travel, riding a train would be almost a relief.

He was almost home, back to the friendship he had destroyed and the home he would lose in a few years. Maybe L _would_ need his assistance with whatever he had planned for tomorrow. It would keep Near's mind off the chaos that his life had become since Mr. Wammy's death.

Sayu met his eyes and inclined her head toward the ticket counter.

"It's… really noisy," she said with a laugh as they walked. "I don't know why I thought England was all Buckingham Palace and country estates. I guess I'll get a good look on the train."

"You might like Winchester. Your brother spent a lot of time in the city when he wasn't working," Near said.

Light was like a phantom member of the conversation much of the time, but he gave them something to talk about.

"Tell me about it," Sayu said as she pulled a card out of her wallet. "It's my first time traveling outside Korea and Japan."

While they stood in line, Near tried to tell her interesting things about the city, things that his teachers had said on their long-ago trips into town. He added information about London, which he had visited exactly once with his peers. What he remembered best was Mello harassing him about cheating on his end-of-year tests and Matt kicking Mello to shut him up on the bus. Near hadn't cared; he knew Mello was a sore loser back then. He just hadn't realized Mello would never grow out of it.

He couldn't share that, though. It was sad that most of what he related to Sayu was information about his own home that had been told to him by other people.

However, he'd set foot in Japan. He hadn't been there long, but now he had impressions of another place that had _not_ been told to him.

As he stood on the platform waiting for the train to collect them, he realized that it could be coming to take him anywhere. He didn't have to have a ticket to Winchester. It could be to Blackpool, or Cambridge, or it could be the tunnel to Coquelles in France. Then the Eurostar was open to him.

Just thinking about it made his heart start racing, and he checked the ticket to make sure the destination hadn't changed.

"Something wrong?" Sayu asked.

He blinked and looked at her. "No, it is nothing."

When she looked away, he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter needed to get off my hard drive. I added about half the material in one writing session, and I need to move on. I could have called this chapter Fanservice because so many of these characters would never meet in canon, and I like fleshing them out and making them talk to each other.


	56. Arrival

After a detour to a café where he stocked up on sweets and coffee, L returned to his suite and downloaded the footage from the tiny camera Aiber had worn.

Well, that was strange. Aiber had said there wasn't much to see, but the file was thirty-one minutes long. That was plenty of time to discuss plans when they weren't likely to make small talk.

L crouched in the corner of his sofa and took the top macaron off his colorful little stack. Aiber had started the camera right outside Light's room because the first thing L saw was Light looking up at him with well-concealed surprise. L had asked Aiber to put the camera close to his face so Light would seemingly look into the camera lens. Seeing a person's eyes was important for interrogation, and the video was clear enough that he could make out the subtleties of Light's expression.

He took a bite out of the sweet, wrapped an arm around his legs, and turned up the volume.

Four minutes later, the macaron had disintegrated in his mouth, unchewed.

Light gave the camera lens an ugly smirk before he buried the camera under his blankets. Light had looked directly at L, as much as he was able, before he kept L from hearing any more of that conversation.

L reflexively swallowed the macaron slush but couldn't take another bite.

Twenty-six minutes of darkness and silence followed.

Twenty.

Six.

_Minutes._

Nothing changed on high speed. The last thirty seconds of the file were Light handing the camera back to Aiber. The view shifted wildly as Aiber wrapped up the cord. His fingers muted the audio occasionally when they covered the microphone, but Light was saying something inaudible and Aiber chuckled before he shut the camera off.

Light had gotten L's trusted agent to have a private conversation with him and leave L out of it. He wasn't sure if Light had won Aiber over or if Aiber was conspiring against him considering the man's own behavior.

L spun the remaining half of the macaron in his fingers. It had grown sticky and warm with his body heat but had all the appeal of old gum.

" _See how Lucian reacts to **not** being the closest person to you." _

Aiber's words made L click back near the beginning of the file. He had memorized all that they had said, but he wanted to see it again. It wasn't the words but the body language that told the real story.

 _There_.

"We're aware," Aiber had said when he interrupted Light's explanation.

Light had worn a mildly annoyed expression up to that point, but at Aiber's words, his face went blank. His face itself remained impassive, then he swallowed. The cords in his neck stood out; he had to be grinding his teeth.

L had never seen Light do anything like that before. L might have called it "anger" because Light got control of his expression for his and Aiber's next exchange, but then Aiber asserted that he and L were partners.

Light's eyes widened in offense, as if Aiber had insulted him, then his eyelids lowered in a deliberate fashion. Light smiled faintly.

"I don't need to convince you of anything. You're just an underling," Light said with unmistakable superiority.

Even though Light was ostensibly maneuvering to get control of the conversation, his true feelings showed. It _was_ jealousy: Light pulled rank on Aiber to put him in his place when it was _L_ that angered him. Doing Watari's work would put Light above anyone else who worked for L, so Light defended his position even when doing so made him go against L's wishes.

L had lost credibility with Light by using Aiber, just as he predicted. Even when L tried to ensure he would not harm Light further by taking action, every tool he used turned into a double-edged sword.

However, Light dominated the conversation after that; he caught Aiber off-guard and then savaged L himself for his mistrustfulness. L's actions had also brought out a frightening but promising new side of Light. Light had gone from that temperamental, impulsive creature that had thrown L into a quandary earlier today… to this.

Ambivalent was _not_ a strong enough word for his feelings about Light right now.

The macaron fell from his fingers, forgotten. L hiccupped and clapped a hand over his mouth to silence it. The first laugh was barely a chuckle. He couldn't draw any air to do more than that. One soundless, breathless laugh followed another until he could finally gasp air into his lungs.

Anyone walking down the hallway would think L was having an attack.

L came back to himself minutes later, the knees of his jeans damp with tears. Sweat ran down his temples, his stomach ached horribly, and his throat was raw. He had not so much laughed as howled. He wiped the tears off on his sleeve, but neither they nor the little bubbles of dying laughter stopped.

Climbing off the sofa, he bent and swiped his macaron off the carpet. Standing back up made him lightheaded, so he finished the cookie while the black stars faded from his vision.

L _had_ told Light to challenge him. L might have gleaned nothing new from the words, but Light's behavior was proof enough.

L managed to smooth that smile off his face with the rest of the sick mirth and draw a breath without a hiccup. Time to get started.

* * *

What would Mr. Wammy have packed him?

L envisioned the bag he had opened in Singapore during his last trip away with the older man. Shirts and jeans L packed himself, but somehow shampoo and underwear and other nonsense always made it into his travel bags as well. There was a toothbrush and toothpaste (children's bubble gum flavor), chargers for his laptop and multiple mobiles (always needed but always forgotten), deodorant (never used), a comb (ha), and the microphone with its voice scrambler for any teleconferences with local police. Anything else Mr. Wammy carried in his own luggage.

L wished that just _once_ he had paid attention to what Mr. Wammy took himself.

He shook his head to clear it before heading into his bedroom. He shucked off the tear-wet jeans and tossed them in the direction of the hamper Mr. Wammy always emptied then froze.

He turned toward the hamper and stared at it for a long, long minute.

Surely he could figure out how to do laundry later.

Maybe much later when no one would see him in the laundry room in the basement. He would just… take his laptop and do more planning down there. There was still one pair of jeans in his closet, so he pulled those on, unearthed his travel bag from where it had gotten buried underneath other dirty laundry, and started packing.

* * *

Matt was chewing on a straw and studying his 3DS screen when L finally appeared on the footpath to the armory. Behind L, the sun crept toward the horizon and bathed the yard in warm orange light. Around the side of the house, younger children scrambled over the playground or kicked a football in the yard before dinner. After the weeks of spring rain and slush, it was hard to fault them for making the racket.

"You said you needed me down here right away," Matt said, closing the device and pocketing it.

"I ran into a problem," L said with customary vagueness.

Matt sniffed. "Is that perfume?"

"Detergent," L said crossly.

L lifted a hand to place it on the panel Matt and Wedy had so recently installed. His sleeves were damp to the middle of his forearms and had a bluish cast.

Matt stifled a laugh as he put his palm on the other access panel and moved his goggles out of the way. This was Wedy's idea: require palm and retinal scans on both sides simultaneously. That should trip up anyone working alone, other than an octopus, of course. If _someone_ tried to dismantle or rewire the panels, he would encounter more violent problems, but this was a good first step as a deterrent.

The locks disengaged, so L slipped inside. Matt was pleased that it worked when L hadn't been around earlier to test it. Wedy had left to meet Aiber's wife before L got back, so he'd have to text her that all was well.

"I'll stay out here," Matt said. "I'm not sure that the changes we made won't lock you inside, so keep it open until Wedy and I can test that tomorrow."

Matt leaned back against the cooling brick wall while he waited. He had no reason to be in the armory; it was just handguns, Mr. Wammy and Roger's scary rifle collection, ammunition, cleaning areas, and other stuff the children shouldn't be able to access. Matt liked practicing shooting well enough given his video games, but he disliked the cleaning that came with actual weapons despite excelling at it compared to his peers.

He pulled his phone out while L opened and closed lockers. A flash of light at the house's front gate made him look up, but it was just a taxi passing by.

"Why don't you move all this off-site?" Matt asked around the straw as he popped his phone open to start texting. "If this will only be a school, they probably won't keep it around."

"Do you know where to store all this?" L asked, his voice muffled. He clanged a locker shut louder than before.

Matt made a noncommittal noise while he typed.

"I couldn't delay anything to take care of this too. Barring access was easier," L said, surprising Matt with an actual explanation.

"He's not seriously coming back here, is he?" Matt asked.

He'd seen Light's state pretty clearly. Light implied he couldn't feed himself, so even if that infection wasn't as dangerous as it could have been, it was still a bad idea for him to come here.

"That's up to him," L said. Apparently he was done being transparent.

He heard a woman's voice, but it was probably the teacher minding the kids around the corner. Then there was a weird sliding, grinding noise inside the armory as if a chain was being dragged over a metal table. Goosebumps rose on Matt's arms. He eyed the armory door, but nothing untoward emerged.

He was playing way too much _Resident Evil: Revelations_ right now.

"You gonna say what you want me for tomorrow?" Matt asked with a shiver. He slid the phone closed and reached for his 3DS. He needed to put _Ocarina of Time_ back in.

"Hacking the security and cameras at the hospital," L said more clearly. He stepped around the door and pushed it closed with one hand. He'd shoved his wet sleeves up to his elbows and had something or somethings cradled against his chest. "If it's all CCTV, you need to be there in person."

The locks whined and clanged home, locking out anyone other than the two of them and Roger again. L jerked on the door handle and seemed satisfied that it didn't budge a millimeter.

"Do I need a disguise?" Matt said with a grin.

"Not if you can do it from outdoors, but a uniform from a utility company might be a good idea," L said. He looked down to rearrange the items in his arms.

"Sweet!" Matt replied. He had some coveralls from an old Halloween costume. He might be able to make them look like the real thing if he washed off the fake dirt and blood.

There was a sound from the direction of the walkway, almost like someone coughed or laughed. Matt leaned around L to squint against the reddening sun. Was someone there?

" _O-hisashi buri desu, Ryuzaki-san_ ," came a woman's voice.

L jerked upright like he'd been zapped, blocking Matt's ability to see beyond him. A look of unexpected terror flashed across L's features before it disappeared like it had never been there. L thrust what he was carrying into Matt's arms, and Matt _oof_ ed with the weight of it.

" _O-hisashi buri desu ne_ ," L said through his teeth as he turned in place, clearly trying to hide the sight of the items.

Was that Japanese? Matt spared a glance for the bundle in his arms. The handgun in its holster he expected, but the other thing was hard to keep hold of. His eyes darted from his arms to L to… was that Near? And—

_Holy crap!_

Something slithered from his boneless grip and clattered to the ground followed by what sounded like a thousand feet of chain. Matt could have counted every link as it struck the cement in that crushing silence if his brain hadn't short-circuited.

_What is there a— Why a **girl**?! Who—?_

The blood climbed to his face so quickly that all ability to assemble sentences fled.

Long dark hair pulled over one shoulder, a pink cowl-neck shirt and navy jacket, slim jeans tucked in gray suede short boots. So familiar with the almond-shaped brown eyes and annoyed half-smile but way too pretty and stylish to be from Wammy House. Not one of L's and too young to be an investor so maybe a journalist?

When he managed to look away from her, Near's altered appearance finally registered, and he almost choked.

_Holy **shit**! This is Light's sister?!_

Sayu had been looking at L, but now her gaze was trained on the offensively loud objects at Matt's feet. He followed suit.

Handcuffs and a whole lot of chain piled in front his boots.

Matt was going to _kill_ L.

The dead-eyed look L gave him in return confirmed that he had similar homicidal desires.

" _I tried to get your attention_ ," Near said in rapid-fire Russian. Matt was pretty sure that was what he said, but Near was trying to hide his smile behind his hand in addition to speaking too quickly for Matt. _"You were closing the door_."

Before any of them could react to a show of amusement from _Near_ , of all people, he spoke quick Japanese to Sayu then added in English for Matt's benefit, "Matt, this is Sayu Yagami."

Sayu gave him a real smile and bowed slightly with her hands in front of her. "Pleased to meet you," she said in devastatingly charming English.

Matt was going to die because none of the blood had made its way out of his face. He unlocked his jaw and barely kept the straw from tumbling out of his mouth too. He gripped the gun and let it fall to his side, out of sight, before pulling the straw out of his mouth.

"Nice to finally meet you," he said somehow.

"Thank you for taking care of my brother," she said then added something incomprehensible in Japanese with a sheepish glance at Near. That made L finally speak. He stayed in the same language and exchanged words with Near as well. Sayu responded hesitantly but L made a dismissive motion.

Fuck. Matt was going to have to learn Japanese after all.

L spared a moment for Matt. "Lock that in your lab. I'll get it later," he whispered before turning back to Sayu.

He gestured for her to follow him, so she said bye to Near and left with L. They talked as they walked to the front door. L pointed at a bag or backpack that had been left on the steps before it, and when she nodded, he shouldered it for her.

Since _when_ did L have manners? Was the _sun_ imploding?

"What is that?" Near asked, jerking Matt back to reality.

His brain finally made connections again, and he remembered how to speak and where he was. It was a pity he was just standing in the yard with a gun and some questionable supplies, and Near was the only one there now.

"Hell if I know," Matt grumbled. "L wanted them and then left them for me to take care of."

He clipped the holster onto his belt with one hand, so he could gather the handcuffs and miles of chain. He carried the mortifying things across the yard to his lab.

"He is getting Sayu a room," Near explained. "He asked if she wanted Light's, but she did not like that idea."

Neither Sayu nor L were visible anymore, so Matt asked, "How much does she know?"

"She does not know Light's alias or why he is here." Near twirled his hair around his finger. "She knows why he is hospitalized. I think his family feared it for some time."

Matt swore. He hadn't known, but would Light have told him before things went to hell? Light had been congenial yet mostly closemouthed about himself, manically driven about his work, unwilling or unable to set boundaries with L, and… good company. How could Matt have guessed Light was also suicidal?

Maybe someday he'd get to ask Light more about it.

"Did you see any more of his family? How was your day in Japan?" Matt asked once they got inside the lab.

While he and Near caught up, he pried up one of the tiles and hid the gun and other items under the floor. L could have fun searching for them later tonight.

Jerk.

* * *

Roger gave L the key to a vacant room in Light's hall, so he led his now-silent companion toward the main stairs. The solid thunk of Sayu's heeled boots on hardwood was the only sound she made. She looked around but made no attempt at conversation when they were in the ground floor's common areas. Students crowded the halls as they left their rooms or came in from outdoors before dinner, which might explain her silence.

He had warned Roger this morning that another outsider was coming, so the students and staff had been briefed. They had done it so often for investors and other visitors since Mr. Wammy's… passing that it should be second nature.

They made it up the stairs into the less-traveled areas before Sayu finally spoke.

"So… 'Light's friend from school'?" Sayu asked, repeating L's lie from over a year ago. Gone was the friendly young woman that she had been outside; now she sounded cross.

"Light-kun and I _were_ acquainted, just not from school," L started, bending the truth as he had with Light in the beginning.

Although given that Light knew his real name, he wondered how long his identity had been a mystery. Had Light's snide comments about L's name hinted at his knowledge back when they started training?

" _Niichan_ told us about you. You don't have to explain. I'm used to the half-information with Light and Dad, so spare me any more lies, please," Sayu said curtly.

L swallowed what he had been about to say. What had Light told them about him?

"Should I still call you Ryuzaki-san?" she asked in a more normal tone of voice.

"Yes. I could use your help," he said rather than trying to explain himself anymore. His shoulders rounded with sudden weariness.

" _My_ help?" Sayu repeated.

"Light-kun needs a bag, but I don't know what to bring for him," L said.

Sayu looked confused, but he handed her a key and her own travel bag when he stopped before one of the doors.

"You can use this room tonight. His room is next door; the door will be open," he said, trying to put his words into an order that didn't then sound like an order. He wasn't sure he had succeeded based on her expression.

"Is it too late to see _niichan_ today?" she asked, gripping the key in her fist.

L nodded. "Our next opportunity is tomorrow morning, but it won't be conducive to conversation," L said. He looked at the floor and rubbed at the back of his neck. "I will do what I can to get you some time with him."

When she said nothing, he glanced back up at her. Her eyebrows were peaked and her lips compressed.

"Thank you, Ryuzaki-san," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. I wasn't being fair to you."

L just inclined his head toward her before turning on his heel to go to the room next door. While she disappeared into her room, he used his master key to open Light's door.

It felt even more like opening a tomb when chilly air sighed out and washed over his feet. The stale air still hinted at sandalwood, at least in his imagination. He flicked on the lights and adjusted the heat upward to banish that empty feeling. Matt had been the one to discover Light's absence, but no one other than L had been in here since that rotten day, leaving everything undisturbed. Before Sayu could see, he swiped Light's final note off the nightstand along with the abandoned bank cards and pocketed them all.

The camera he had set atop the dresser caught his eye next. It had been a gift to Light from Sayu. Would she be insulted if she saw it still unopened? Would L be doing anyone any favors if he hid it?

He couldn't decide, so he used his keys to slit the tabs then set the now-opened box in Light's closet.

Light had started filling a suitcase before he ran away, so L could start with that. He poked through the neatly-folded contents, trying to piece together Light's thought processes at the end. Had Light planned to pack up and leave Wammy House but changed his mind halfway through packing? Had he just wanted to confuse them, thus delaying their search until they noticed the note?

L's fingers found a plain white t-shirt under the button-down shirts. His cold, damp sleeves reeked of flowers and irritated him enough that he slipped into the bathroom and traded his shirt for Light's. After all he'd done, surely he could borrow a tee for an evening. It fit a lot closer than he liked and left his arms exposed, but it was better than wearing evidence of his inept laundry skills.

Sayu knocked on the doorframe just as he tossed his wadded-up shirt in the sink. She had left off her jacket and pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

"You said the bag is for my brother?" she asked when she took a step into the room. "Does he need new things?"

"Traveling tomorrow is one option, but he has nothing with him and may need to stay as well," he said. He didn't want her to think that someone from Wammy House was taking care of Light during his stay, as was more common in Japan, and only needed to refresh his supplies.

Sayu walked to where L had been standing earlier, her heels quieter against the carpet in front of Light's bed. She fingered one of the silky-soft shirts that lay inside Light's suitcase. Without letting go of it, she scanned the room again.

"This is as bare as his apartment was," Sayu murmured as if she didn't expect L to hear, so he said nothing. "Did he leave it like this?" she asked.

"Yes," L said simply when she didn't ask anything further.

He slid open a dresser drawer. In the hopes of figuring out how everything had gone so wrong, he had searched the entire room back when he thought Light was dead, but now he had good reason to go through it. Surely he should put some socks or something in that suitcase.

Sayu smoothed the creases out of the shirt she had touched, and she straightened out the ones L had mussed a few minutes ago.

"He has enough shirts for a short trip." She pushed her bangs out of her eyes and saw L standing there with socks in his hands. "Go ahead and put those in. I need to find some more trousers." She turned her face away from him to go look in the closet.

They worked mostly in silence after that. Sayu thought of plenty of things he hadn't considered: shoes, a jacket, the items out of his bathroom, and even a towel and washcloth. L packed the laptop Matt had given Light rather than Light's old one. He left the spare keys for the Mercedes; someone could sell the thing some other day.

"Did he say anything before he…?" Sayu gestured to imply the words she wouldn't say after she closed and zipped the suitcase shut.

L considered the note burning a hole in his pocket, but he strongly doubted the contents would be any consolation to her.

"No," L said. "He said it was a rushed decision." L had gotten that from the doctor's notes, and it could have been a lie, but that lie might be helpful.

"He _said_ that? So he'll talk about it?"

"Yes. He's doing better than he was," L said.

Light was far from well, but L had seen some terrifying yet incredible things today. He just couldn't tell her that. He would have to explain too much else for what he saw to make sense to her.

Sayu crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at the carpet.

"Can I be honest, Ryuzaki-san?" Before L could say anything, she continued, "I don't know what I'm doing here. I know he won't be happy that I came, but I couldn't just… stay. Not if he…"

She trailed off. L didn't try to look at her face given the sound of her voice, but this was the sister of someone that L had harmed greatly, whether intentionally or not. What would Mr. Wammy have told him to do? The older man had advised him for most of his life even though L had been ungracious about much of the instruction.

"Have you had dinner?" L asked.

She looked up at him, confused by the non sequitur, and shook her head.

"Is it dinnertime? I feel like Nasanyu-san and I just had breakfast in Switzerland," she said.

L tried to decipher that so he didn't give her a name Near hadn't used. Near must have given her part of the false name on his passport: Nathaniel Wells.

"The staff is serving dinner, so I can show you the way or ask Nathaniel to do so," he said. "The town center isn't far, so you can go there instead, but eat dinner. Sleep. Tomorrow morning I'll know how you can help further."

"There's more?"

"I will think of something," he said.

Her hollow-eyed stare faded to something more neutral.

"Let's do dinner, then," she said.

 _Let's_? L hadn't meant to offer to go with her, especially since he didn't want to eat anything except the cheesecake he had bought with the macarons. He opened his mouth to correct her, but… Mr. Wammy was glaring at him in his memories.

Ah, well. L could always get dessert if they ate in Winchester itself, and he had plenty of time to make arrangements if he avoided sleeping tonight. Then the cheesecake would be useful and not just a treat.

"We can go into town for food rather than eating here," he said. He knew just the place that served food but did much better with desserts.

For once in the last few miserable days, L must have done something right if her soft smile was any indication.

_Was that the right response, Mr. Wammy?_

He hoped so.

Sayu picked Light's suitcase off the bed and set it next to the door with the laptop bag that L had packed. She took the tie out of her hair and finger-combed it out while L locked the door behind them. He should probably take Mr. Wammy's car again; he loathed driving his own, especially with anyone else in it.

"Nathaniel should come too," Sayu said blithely as she went to collect her jacket and purse.

L came to a halt and stared after her.

"Should we ask Matt as well? Would he want to join us?" Sayu called around the corner.

_Never mind. I made a big mistake._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor L. He has been so beaten up in the last few chapters. Someone give him a hug again!


End file.
